Time's Library
by Ariandir
Summary: Harry's 6th year at Hogwarts, and Voldemort plots his next move in the shadows. The Order recruits a new face for the effort; or an old face, if you're Remus Lupin...HPMarauders - the story'll give you a better idea than the summary! RLOC
1. Prologue: The note

Author's notes: Revamped, people, revamped! :) Ah, I saw the new movie, and I was inspired; my apologies that 'A Fifth Year' has been sitting there gathering dust for so long, but I just about managed to put the finishing touches to this first chapter before my GCSE Biology exam today at one (eeeeek!). Astrea still comes across as slightly Mary-Sueish and maybe even a bit overly-weepy here (well, let's face it - wouldn't _you_ be if your best mate had just died?), but seeing as how I strongly dislike Mary-Sues as much as the next person, I promise you that I am taking the utmost precautions to make her...well...not ;) So here's the final draft, folks; let's hope it's third time lucky, eh? Remember to click the little blue button on your way out! Muffins and rum, as always - Arian xxx 

Disclaimer:...JK Rowling, people - what more need be said? 

Spoilers: Huge biggy, right at the very beginning! 

Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;) 

-- 

**_Now_**

The rain fell in slender rods from the dark, brooding sky, casting resounding dimples in the puddles and tapping against the glass of glowing window panes. Trees bowed and their leaves shivered before the stern wind, but a raven, barely visible in the shadow of the inky sky, simply let himself be carried along on his outstretched wings, occasionally giving a delicate shift in his weight to turn his flight path. 

Then, with a strong downbeat of his wings, he suddenly broke away from the howling current and wheeled, dropping even as he flew towards a low, sprawling abbey, crouching in the shelter of a fringe of dark fir trees that thickened as they drew back away from the house to become a forest, reaching far out beyond the curtains of sheeting grey rain. The raven's sharp eyes were fixed upon an open window in the right wing of the building, warm candlelight spilling down over the rough brown-stone walls, wavering gently as a loud rumble of thunder throbbed in the miserable heavens. 

Visible through the window, a young woman clad in dark blue robes sat at a gnarled wooden table, the black quill in her hand scratching rapidly over a sheet of parchment. 

Nearing the open pane, the raven pulled his wings into his body at the very last moment, and soared into the room. After circling its walls a few times he touched down on the tabletop with a hard 'clack' from his claws, and proceeded to shake the glistening rain from his glossy feathers, scattering tiny sparks as it caught the candlelight. 

Her quill pausing mid-word, the young woman looked up at the raven sat at the other end of the table, her eyes lavender as they caught the wavering rays of a candleflame. 

"Hello, Artemis." She smiled, and carefully laid the quill down by the parchment. "Wet?" 

The Raven croaked in reply, and ambled up the table towards his mistress, his progress intermittently punctuated by a hop and a flap of his wings. 

Another rumble of thunder echoed outside, this time accompanied by a brief, searing flash of forked lightning that flickered over in the West, above a ridge bristling with dark pines. Artemis blinked his deep eyes at the snake-tongue light, and then looked back down to where his mistress's fingers were removing the letter bound to his leg. Once it was done, the Raven affectionately brushed his feathered cheek against the young woman's hand, and then bounded away to settle infront of a copy of the Daily Prophet that lay on the tabletop, and immerse himself in a particularly complex article about Astronomy. 

His mistress, meanwhile, was examining the script of the address, her eyes narrowing slightly as she deduced the handwriting: 

'_Astrea Ravenstone,_

_The Kitchen,_

_Taigan Abbey,_

_Spirewood'_

Turning the folded parchment over in her hands, she broke the wax seal, smoothed it out with a loud crackling sound, and read. 

A second later, the noise of thunder was drowned out by a shocked cry that rang through the abbey and startled Artemis, who flared his wings with a raucous 'craw'. The bird continued to shift, unsettled, from foot to foot, as the young woman bolted past him, grabbing her travelling cloak on the way out, and leaving the letter abandoned on the tabletop. 

Hopping across to it, Artemis peered down at the script with his glittering black eyes and placed a scaly foot on the parchment to steady it as he read: 

_'Astrea - _

_Come to Hogwarts as soon as Artemis reaches you with this message -_

_Sirius Black is dead.'_

-- 

The room was round, and dark, save only for the russet ghosts of firelight that slid and vanished and danced over the book-lined walls, over the delicate, complex silver machines that glittered on polished wooden surfaces. 

The figures sat sleeping in their portraits, though they never really slept, with their venerable heads bowed, and every so often, the sound of slow breathing was punctuated by a quiet grunt or a snore. 

But apart from that, and the snapping of the logs in the hearth, everything was silent. 

The light from the fire began to dim, and become ever more fickle, and gradually, it was nearly eclipsed all together as a dark shape appeared amid the flames, spinning very fast at first, and then slower and slower until a honey-haired, pale woman wearing a black travelling cloak that swept the ground was stepping out of the fireplace. 

Without so much as a glance at the glowing sparks of embers that showered from her robes as she brusquely crossed the study, the woman went to meet the tall old wizard standing by the dull blue, star-speckled rectangle of the window, the golden frames of his half-moon glasses flashing in the ruddy light. 

"Headmaster..." The young woman's voice was taut with suppressed tears, and her words were clipped. "Tell me it's not true. Please." 

The old man sighed, russet light licking over his long white beard. 

"I'm afraid so, my dear." He replied sadly. 

"No..." The young woman shook her head, her eyes shining. "No!" She whispered, her teeth clenched. "Oh please, Headmaster, no! I don't believe it! He can't be! He's not...he _can't_..." 

.The old wizard watched the young woman grimly as she collapsed into a nearby chair, her hand over her mouth. 

"He's _not!_" 

As her head drooped, her shoulders began to shake, and presently the tears were splashing bitterly into her lap. 

"I love him! I love him! Like a brother! He's not dead! Oh please, tell me he _isn't_ _dead!_" 

Dumbledore quietly came to her side, placing a hand on her quaking shoulder. 

Astrea's head was bowed into her hands, and she spoke in a voice no stronger than a whisper: 

"How?" 

"In a duel." Said Dumbledore quietly. "He went to the Department of Mysteries along with four other members of the Order and myself, after Severus Snape informed them that Sirius's godson, Harry, had gone there himself, believing Sirius to be a captive of Voldemort." 

Astrea felt a sudden unbearable burning in her diaphragm as she heard the name, and she hissed angrily. 

"And Sirius died." She choked bluntly. "Who killed him?" 

Dumbledore sighed. 

"His cousin, Bellatrix." 

Astrea's throat felt as though it was on fire. 

"Oh _god_." She cursed disgustedly on her breath, bowing her head further and gouging her fingers through her thick hair. "They were _cousins!_" 

She forced an angry scream back down into the depths of her gut, and took a trembling breath, though the tears were still streaming down her cheeks, and showed no sign of stopping. 

"I've been gone so long...Where's Harry? Did you save him?" 

"Yes." Dumbledore assured her with a small smile. "Harry is safe and well, with his Aunt, Uncle and cousin in Little Whinging, where he has been residing for the past sixteen years." 

"Peter Pettigrew?" 

"Peter has rejoined his master, and is still alive and in Voldemort's service." 

Astrea blinked hard as a face surfaced in her mind, and two large, wet tears rolled from her eyes. 

"And Remus Lupin?" 

"May be found at this very moment in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix." 

"Oh god." Astrea gasped with a shuddering breath, suddenly overcome, her features clenching in another wave of tears as Dumbledore hunkered level with her. "_Oh god! Sirius!_" 

And finally giving into her grief, the witch drooped forwards like a withering snowdrop, and sobbed out her heart into the old man's embrace, whose golden half-moon glasses flashed in the light of the fire. 

The only light in that darkened room. 

-- 

The only light in the darkened kitchen was that of the fire, which crackled and popped in the hearth, throwing the long shadows of black iron cookery pots suspended from ceiling racks across the cold stone floor. 

A man sat alone at the long, wooden table in the centre of the room, his chin on his chest as he dozed, the surface infront of him littered with rolls of parchment, some furled and some open, a pewter goblet and a green glass bottle of dark wine. 

His shabby, patched wizard's robes hung from his form in a way that suggested he may have suffered ill health recently, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, clear and apparent against his pale pallor. 

Out in the shadowy hall, up a flight of flagstone steps, there were soft voices and footfalls; the sound of a bag brushing against a travelling cloak as it was shifted to an opposite hand. 

Professor McGonagall made her way down into the kitchen, and smiled sympathetically at the sleeping form of Remus Lupin, sitting by the fire so that one half of him was bathed in warm, flickering light. 

The witch straightened her tartan scarf as she crossed the kitchen, and placed a gentle hand on Lupin's shoulder to wake him. 

Stirring, Lupin looked up, and gave her a weary smile. 

"Ah, good evening, Professor McGonagall." 

His old head of house inspected him critically. 

"You're not looking after yourself well enough, Remus." She chided sternly, though not without affection. "You need a good few square meals and a decent night or two's sleep, by the looks of things." 

Lupin chuckled. 

"So I'm told - Molly's quite fond of reminding me. Erm; cup of tea?" He asked, getting to his feet and making towards the large black kettle that hung by the fire. 

"No, thank you, Remus. I'm not staying." Professor McGonagall told him, smoothing down the front of her robes. "Dumbledore sent me to bring someone to the Headquarters who's to join the Order. I believe you've been introduced." She added with a slight smile. 

Lupin turned as she looked back towards the foot of the kitchen steps, and his eyes widened with shock. 

Another younger witch stood holding a large bag infront of her with two hands, wrapped in a thick black cloak and a scarf, knotted and tucked into the neckline. Her eyes were shinier than a person's should be, and the faint pinkness that rimmed them suggested a recent bout of crying, but at the sight of Lupin, however, she adorned a very glad, if weary, smile. 

"Astrea!" Lupin beamed, crossing to her in a few strides. "My god!" 

"Remus." She laughed thickly, sniffing as she set down her bag so as bring him to her in a hug. "I've missed you so much! I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch, but..." 

"I know you couldn't; it's alright." Lupin smiled warmly, drawing back, but still clasping her upper arms, so as to appraise her. 

She was different from how she had been when they had last said goodbye at Lily and James's New Year's Eve party, and yet he could still see traces of the twenty one year-old girl he remembered from fifteen years ago. 

_A door opening; a young woman stooping over a trunk at the foot of her bed, her face drawn and her complexion weak. Dropping one last folded robe into the chest, she straightens up, heaves a sigh and shuts the lid. A wrench somewhere in his chest as the young witch whirls a travelling cloak around her shoulders and turns to face him..._

Her face was now unmistakably that of a grown woman's, with gracefully defined cheekbones and elegant, cat-like, powder-mauve eyes against dark lashes. Ruddy shadows cast by the firelight accented the gentle recesses of her cheeks and throat, which were neither deeper nor gaunter than they should have been, and did not seem to indicate any signs of recent or long-term illness. In fact, she looked as healthy as she ever did, aside from her tear-paled face and pink-rimmed eyes, and that gave Lupin the impression that her years in hiding had not been spent in discomfort or difficulty, for which he was very thankful. 

_"You're leaving." It was more a statement than a question._

_She raised her eyebrows and nodded wearily._

_"Yes. We've had word through the family that the Dark Lord's going after the witches and wizards who oppose him. They want me to go back to the Abbey."_

_He nodded. He could feel something sinking inside of him._

_"You'll be alright?" He asked, if only for the want of needing to say something._

_Though tiredly, she smiled at him - nearly beamed - and hefted the large carpet back she held infront of her with two hands._

_"Yes, thank you."_

_There was a pause. He went to say something more; thought better of it; and then said it regardless._

_"...I'm sorry."_

_She tried to keep the smile as she nodded. She failed._

_"Remus, me too."_

Astrea's head was aching as Lupin held her; the last few hours of disconsolate sobbing had drained all her energy, and her eyes were sore, but this barely hindered her curiosity as she looked into the face of a man she hadn't seen for over a decade. 

For one thing, Lupin's hair was comparatively greyer. Its mixed colour of grey and light brown could vaguely be likened to that of a wolf's pelt, yet the grey eyes that took her in with a touching concern were nothing if not calm and kind; just as she remembered them. 

_The boy smiled compassionately as she hiccoughed into the handkerchief he'd given her._

_"Everyone has off-days now and then."_

_"I know, but..." She looked up at him. "But breaking a mirror...?" _

His robes, Astrea also noticed, had grown ever more shabby and threadbare over the course of her absence, and it struck her that they were the same set, though despite having been neatly darned in several places, they were impeccably clean. She had to admit that Lupin looked as tired as she did, and it was told so by the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the premature lines on his face. 

"I..." Astrea faltered, her cheeks flushing awkwardly as she looked at him hesitantly. "I'm sorry." 

Lupin gave a grave nod; they both knew what she meant. 

"Someone was with you when you found out? Caspian?" 

Astrea sniffed, staring at the neckline of Lupin's robes. 

"I haven't seen him for a while." She murmured. "I'm not even sure if he knows." 

Lupin nodded again, trying to swallow the painful lump that had swollen in his throat. 

"Why - why don't you come and sit down?" He suggested quietly. 

Astrea nodded, biting down hard on her bottom lip as more tears threatened, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Following Lupin, the toffee-haired witch seated herself at the table while he crossed to the large black kettle and tapped it with his wand. 

They both jumped as Professor McGonagall quietly cleared her throat. 

"I know this probably isn't the most appropriate time to raise the subject," She said gently. "But Professor Dumbledore would also like me to inform you both that he wishes you to take up posts as staff in the new school year." 

Astrea looked at Professor McGonagall with a tired sort of amazement, while Lupin nearly dropped the kettle as he lifted it off the bracket. 

"Are...Is he really sure that's a good idea?" He spluttered. 

"Obviously." Professor McGonagall replied. "Otherwise he wouldn't have considered it." 

"But - but the parents-" 

"Will be informed that all possible precautions will be taken, and that for the other twenty-nine days of the month, you are perfectly human." 

Astrea watched quietly from her chair, fairly certain of what was going through Lupin's mind at that moment. 

"As for you, Miss Ravenstone," Professor McGonagall continued. "Professor Dumbledore would like you to take up the post of Choir Mistress, as our resident director was..." The dark-haired woman hesitated. "Most unfortunately killed in a Death Eater attack on her home two months ago, and, as I'm sure you'll appreciate, Professor Dumbledore has had some difficulty in finding a replacement." 

Astrea nodded dumbly; she wasn't really taking any of this in. 

"Well, give it some thought," Professor McGonagall said. "But whatever your answers, the Headmaster must recieve your replies by no later than August 1st." 

Walking forward, she took a handful of glittering green powder from a shallow bowl in the mantelpiece, and pausing, turned to look back at them. 

"Get some rest, both of you." She advised. "Nymphadora Tonks, Mundungus Fletcher and Kingsley Shacklebolt should be arriving shortly." 

Then she showered the emerald dust into the fire, stepped into the hearth, enunciated very clearly "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry", and was gone in a whorl of flame and cloak, leaving Astrea and Lupin alone in the dark and silent house. 

Astrea started as a loud whistle and a rush of steam suddenly issued from the spout of the iron kettle; Lupin had gone back to making tea, and was presently summoning a pair of teabags from across the room and dropping them into two mugs on the table. 

"You came straight from Hogwarts, I take it?" He asked. 

"From the Abbey, actually." Astrea added. "But I went to Hogwarts first, to see Dumbledore. He sent me a letter abo-" 

She swallowed the word as her throat began to ache. Lupin regarded her sympathetically as he handed her a mug of tea across the tabletop. 

"About Sirius." Astrea finished with a kind of subdued determination, clutching the steaming drink, with both hands, into her chest. "Dumbledore told me how he died; I couldn't stop crying." 

Lupin sat down opposite her, silent. 

"Did...did the Ministry clear his name? When they found out the truth?" 

"You knew he was innocent?" 

"Espionage and reconnaissance, Remus," Astrea said, smiling without much conviction. "Going into hiding with absolutely no news from the outside world would have had me climbing the walls." 

Lupin sighed, and took a sip of tea. 

"I don't know. I believe Dumbledore's trying to persuade them to, but whether or not it'll happen is..." 

The young woman nodded. 

"Pride, that's what it is - Fudge wouldn't want to admit that they'd been chasing after the wrong man for all these years. Clearing Sirius's name would mean he'd have to announce that publicly, and Voldemort's return has already been a slap in the face. Nothing less than the puffed-up git deserved..." 

Lupin chuckled, though he felt hollow, and took another sip of tea. 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

"So how has life been treating you?" Astrea asked. "And my goodness, that was an insensitive question." 

"No it wasn't." Said Lupin. "As well as could be expected under the circumstances, I suppose. Yourself?" 

"Oh, you know," Astrea gave something of a mock smile as she set down her mug. "Little rich girl; sheltered and protected, perfectly safe and comfortable in the ancestoral home while all my old school mates die in the outside world." 

Lupin studied his tea. 

"Please believe me when I say I wanted to be there." Astrea said, leaning forward suddenly in the eagerness of her pleading. "I wanted to be there, fighting on the front line with everyone else! I really did!" 

"Sirius was just the same." Lupin shook his head ruefully. "Confined to the house, wishing he could be out there with the rest of us, doing things for the Order." He sighed. "In a way, it makes me all the more glad you're here now." 

Astrea smiled slightly. 

"So you can 'keep an eye on me'?" 

Lupin laughed quietly. 

"That's just it." 

More silence. 

Astrea bit her lower lip as she sniffed, and wiped away the fresh tears with her cuff. Lupin looked up at the sound, startled to see that she was crying again. 

"Oh, Rea..." He said quietly, fishing into his pocket and producing a handkerchief. 

She shook her head, the bottoms of her eyes sparkling in the dim light. 

"Why Sirius?" She asked hopelessly. 

Lupin gazed at her sympathetically, and gently squeezed her arm as she took the handkerchief from him. 

"Why any of them?" He replied. 

Astrea nodded, and studied the white cloth for a long while. Then, with a shivering breath, she anchored her fingers in her hair, and bowed her head to weep. 

-- 

Lupin yawned hugely, and glanced down at his watch, but the reflection of the embers off its face hid the hands; he lost interest and re-folded his arms. The fire in the hearth had begun to sink from the brilliance of its last stoking, so that the further parts of the kitchen were in almost total darkness. Lupin felt a slight shiver pass down his spine, and sighed: if only Sirius were there. He remembered their talks late into the night while they had been at Grimmault Place; and he'd have loved to have seen Astrea again. 

Rea...Lupin's thoughts turned to the woman sleeping upstairs and he heaved another sigh. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her face, burned clear and sharp into his mind: her pale face all tear-streaked; her sore, shiny thyme-flower eyes; her long, honey-coloured hair...Lord knew, a decade and a half only looked like four or five years on her, compared to what it had done to him. Then he remembered the edge of bitterness in her tone when she had spoken of her comfortable circumstances; being "Daddy's little rich girl", as she jokingly referred to herself, had always made her uncomfortable whenever the subject came up. Astrea was the second daughter of Belarius and Phaedria Ravenstone, a wizard and witch of strong and ancient pureblood stock, whose ancestry tied them to the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Weasleys, and to most any other pureblood family. Astrea's older sister, Venera, had married a Malfoy - Altairus - a few years after she had left Hogwarts, and Remus recalled that despite the two women rarely ever having seen eye to eye, from that time on they had talked very little. Astrea's twin brother, on the other hand - Caspian - Remus, or anyone else outside the family for that matter, barely knew. Like his uncle Scabius, Caspian spent much of his time away from the rest of his family in recluse, travelling around the world and schooling in different forms of magic and lore; or so Astrea had told them. She mentioned him almost as little as she did Venera. 

But by saying that the Ravenstones were a rich and powerful pureblood family was by no mean saying that they were as bad as the Malfoys or the Blacks. Venera had always had some slightly strange ideas about blood superiority, but Belarius and Phaedria were decent people, and Caspian had been a grave and taciturn boy at Hogwarts, making Ravenclaw prefect like his twin. 

Their ancestral home had been Taigan Abbey - and from what Astrea had said earlier, Remus gathered it still was. It was a large, expansive structure of raw stone and timber, dating from early medieval times, with a low, squat profile, stretching wings and tall, steep roofs that reached almost down to the ground. It also had a quirky, lopsided bell-tower, the apex of which was saved for the family's trademark ravens, which they used in place of owls. Remus had only been there once or twice, but it was a difficult place to forget or find the likeness of elsewhere, and thus he recalled it fairly well. 

A voice pulled him from his musings, and he stirred. 

"Remus, you should go to bed. It's two in the morning!" 

He looked up: Tonks was standing infront of him with a concerned look on her face. Her hair was shoulder-length and lime green. Lupin nodded and stretched. 

"You - you are alright, aren't you? You weren't..." Tonks faltered. 

Remus looked at her. 

"No. Did you see anything worth reporting?" 

Tonks shook her head. 

"No." Then she frowned. "I saw another cloak in the hallway. Is someone here?" 

Lupin nodded. 

"Astrea Ravenstone." 

His answer was met with a silent 'oh'. 

"Really? When'd she come?" 

"A few hours ago. She's joining the Order, so she'll be here for a while." 

"Wasn't she in hiding?" 

"Yes, but Dumbledore feels she can do something to help the effort." 

Tonks opened her mouth, but a slight hesitation came before she spoke. 

"Is he going to keep her here?" 

_Like Sirius_. They were both silent for a moment. 

"I don't know." Said Remus quietly, studying the dying fire. 

Tonks gazed at the flagstones, and then murmured under her breath: 

"I miss him, Remus. I really, _really_ miss him." 

Lupin closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. 

"So do I, Tonks. And there's not one damn thing we can do to change it." 

-- 


	2. How it starts

Disclaimer: Astrea and the soup ladle are my only possessions - everything else belongs to the wonderfully talented Mistress Rowling! 

Spoilers: Only for those of you who haven't read PoA (what have you been _doing_ with your lives?!) 

Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;) 

-- 

**_Then_**

"Uh! What a day..." 

James cast himself down on the bench next to Sirius. The Great Hall was buzzing with the catchings-up of the Summer Holidays; across the table, Remus had been chatting animatedly with Kingsley Shacklebolt, whilst Peter stared idly up at the hundreds of candles floating overhead. 

"Excellent work with Snape on the train, my friend." Sirius grinned. 

James gave a what would have been a modest shrug, except he was smirking. 

"Thanks. Slimy git asked for it..." 

"Lily certainly had something to say about it." 

Remus had stopped talking to Kingsley, and was focusing his attention on the dark-haired pair. 

"Yeah, well. I don't know what her problem is." James cast it off casually. 

Sirius put an elbow on the tabletop, and leaned conspiratorially across towards Remus. 

"Saw you eyeing up Ravenstone today." 

Remus cleared his throat. 

"No, you didn't." 

Sirius' grin widened. 

"I most certainly did." 

"No, you didn't." 

"No, I really did." 

"You couldn't have, because I wasn't eyeing her up." 

Sirius looked at James, and James looked at Sirius. 

"We're going to have to school him in the art of women." James said sagely. 

Peter snickered. 

"Oh, because you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Jamsie?" Sirius teased. 

James's brown eyes narrowed slightly, and his cheeks coloured. 

"Sirius?" 

"Yes, Remus?" 

Remus smiled slightly. 

"You know that line you're not supposed to cross with James?" 

"I'm coming up to it?" 

"No, no - look behind you." 

There was a brief pause. 

"Oh, _that_ line." 

There was a loud rapping sound, and the babble in the Hall quietly simmered out. James leaned back off the bench and glanced down the table. 

"Hey look! They're about to start the Sorting!" 

The other three sat up, craning their necks to see past the Hufflepuff table into the centre of the Great Hall. 

Professor McGonagall was at the head of a long stream of timid-looking first years, idly tapping the registry scroll in the palm of her hand as she walked brisquely towards the dais. 

Up ahead of them, tiny Professor Flitwick was already setting down the Sorting Hat on the three-legged wooden stool, were it slumped in a sad sort of way, looking worn-out and crumpled, and its long leather ties dangling forlornly to the floor. 

The entire hall waited in silent expectation for a few tense moments, and then, quite unexpectedly, the Sorting Hat straightened up, and opening its torn lips wide apart, burst into full song: 

"_In ages past, long years ago,_

_Four close friends stood united,_

_They shared a common dream to teach,_

_And so Hogwarts was started._

_Brave Gryffindor, said he to them,_

_'I'll only teach the gallant,_

_Those who have courageous hearts,_

_The intrepid and the valiant.'_

_Sly Slytherin, he said to that,_

_'Those of purest blood I'll tend,_

_Descendants of the noblest lines,_

_With means to reach their ends.'_

_Wise Ravenclaw, said she in turn,_

_'I'll tutor those who think,_

_Those folk who have the sharpest minds,_

_With wand and quill and ink.'_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, said she at last,_

_'I care not who are best,_

_Who are brave, ambitious or of quickest wit,_

_For I will teach the rest!'_

_So step on up and try me on,_

_For I'm the Sorting Hat,_

_I'll know just where you ought to go,_

_There's no doubt about that!_

_So don't be nervous, don't you fear,_

_When you sit upon the stool,_

_I'll know just where you'd fit in best,_

_In this, our Hogwarts School!_" 

Rapturous applause broke out in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat closed its ragged mouth and became motionless again. 

"The first years look like they're all going to have coronary arrests!" Sirius yelled over the applause, clapping as hard as he could. 

The long column of first years had now pooled around the foot of the dais steps, and were all staring at the Sorting Hat with expressions of horrified amazement. 

The noise in the hall gradually subsided to a handful of students competing to have the last clap (Sirius among them), who were quickly silenced under the glare of Professor McGonagall, who after a last cursory scowl that licked over the vicinity, lowered her eyes to the trailing length of parchment in her hand, and called out the first name. 

"Ace, Katherine." 

A small girl with short, glossy dark hair came timidly forward and perched on the stool, cautiously lowering the Sorting Hat onto her head as though afraid it was about to bite her. 

The hat sat in quiet pensiveness for a moment, shifting a little once or twice, and then opening its fraying lips wide apart, cried: 

"_Gryffindor!_" 

A huge grin of relief lit the girl's face as she pulled off the hat and bounced towards the Gryffindor table, where James, Sirius, Remus and Peter all sat clapping along with their fellows. 

"Aines, Jennifer." 

A copper-haired girl took Katherine Ace's place, her large doe-brown eyes like saucers as the hat bent over to look at her so that its threadbare tip touched her nose. 

"_Hufflepuff!_" It then proclaimed in a ringing voice as it straightened up. 

"It must be really boring, being a Sorting Hat." Peter remarked to Remus as they applauded. "I mean, sitting in Dumbledore's office all year, with nothing to do except think up songs with different lyrics on exactly the same subject." 

"I'd do my nut." Sirius nodded. 

"It probably talks to the portraits or Dumbledore whenever it gets bored." Remus said. 

"D'you think it's ever needed a thesaurus or a rhyming dictionary when its been making up its songs?" James asked with a smile. 

"There's a thought." Sirius said. "Original lyrics by the past-and-present headmasters-and-mistresses of Hogwarts, music arranged and scored by the Sorting Hat." 

The long ribbon of unsorted first years grew gradually shorter, and finally, when the house tables sat full and the central aisle empty, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat at the teacher's table, and stood ready to address the entirety of the Great Hall, his arms spread wide in welcome. 

"Ettiquet states that there is an occasion for every word." He said, beaming down at the sea of students. "This is an occasion for two: tuck in!" 

Sirius gave a loud whoop and banged his fist approvingly on the tabletop as it suddenly blossomed with golden tureens, platters and pitchers, so that the wooden legs of the tables groaned under the weight of the food and drink. 

"Excellent!" James groaned as he leant forward to load his plate. 

As he stretched for the ladle in the soup cauldron, Remus' eyes darted to the Ravenclaw table on the far side of the hall. They flitted up and down its length for a moment, and then they rested on their target: a head of long, honey-blonde hair, its owner sitting with her back to him. On either side of her, a boy's head of identically-coloured hair and a girl's head of short black hair. 

Sirius glanced up from his lamb chops, and promptly elbowed James in the ribs. Remus sat gazing right past them, one hand still resting on the soup ladle. Sirius cracked a wicked smile and stealthily pulled his wand from within his robe. A second later, Remus started back with a cry as the ladle gave out a loud 'ribbit!'. Peter giggled, and James snorted into his cottage pie. 

"You're such a bad liar, Remus." Sirius chuckled, replacing his wand. "You should know you can't get anything past us!"  
Remus shot him a dark scowl and ladled some soup into his bowl. He picked up his spoon and went to take a mouthful, but quickly hesitated. 

"Please tell me you didn't do anything to the soup." 

"Nah." Sirius yawned. "Just to the ladle." 

Remus glanced over to where the ladle was now swimming happily around in the cauldron. 

"Right..." 

"I heard something about a Hallowe'en ball this year." James said, pouring himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. 

"Really?" Sirius frowned. "When?" 

James gave him a flat look. 

"At Hallowe'en, you idiot." 

Sirius swatted him. 

"No, nest-head! I mean when did you _hear_ about it?" 

James waved his hand absent-mindedly, as though he were deflecting a fly. 

"Oh, I read it somewhere in the start-of-term letter." 

"Well, _I_ didn't see anything about it." 

"Look, I don't _know_ where I heard it; I just did!" 

"Fine. So I guess that means writing back to our families for dress robes for those of us who weren't benefitted by sudden epiphanies of Divination." 

"Just because the little voices are talking to me..." 

"Shut up, James." 

"Of course, Sirius." 

"So, who are you going to ask, James?" Peter piped up from across the table. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. 

"Well, that's bloody obvious." 

James smirked an evil smirk. 

"And Remus can ask Astrea Ravenstone." 

Remus choked slightly on his soup. 

"I can_not!_" 

"Why?" 

"Because. Well...you know why." Remus finished quietly. 

"What? Oh, come on, Moony! She doesn't _know_ you're a-" 

Sirius clamped a hand over Peter's mouth at the same moment as Remus jerked forward with an imploring hiss. 

"Sorry. Didn't think." Peter muttered as Sirius lowered his hand. 

"Damn right there." 

There was a relieved silence as they all relaxed. Remus became engaged in conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt again, and once his attention was averted, James leant in, and indicated for the others to do the same.  
"Speaking of that," James leant in, and indicated for the others to do the same. "How's it going?" 

"Nearly got it." Sirius confirmed with a firm nod. 

Peter shifted uncomfortably. 

"I'm...um...having a few problems..." 

"We'll help you out, mate." Sirius assured him companionably. 

Peter ventured a sheepish smile. 

"Thanks." 

When the students had eaten their fill, and the murmuring of conversation between mouthfuls had turned to laughter and talk on a satisfied stomach, Dumbledore once more rose to his feet to address the hall. In unison, all tongues fell quiet. 

"Now that your hunger and thurst has been sufficiently stemmed by those excellent victuals, I crave your attention for a few moments in order to announce a few start-of-term notices: I will begin by informing our first years that the Forest in the grounds is strictly out-of-bounds, and please note that no magic is to be used in the corridors between classrooms, which," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "One or two of our senior students should also know by now, too." 

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter grinned at each other. 

"Mr Filch, our caretaker, wishes me to remind you that such things as Dungbombs and Stink Pellets _will_ be confiscated if deployed in the hallways, as will a number of other items that can be checked on the list outside Mr Filch's office. 

Madame Lorelei would like me to inform all Spellsingers that Choir starts on Friday evening, and to bring their copies of the Opus of Lore with them to the first rehearsal. Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams..." 

At the mention of Spellsingers, Remus' eyes found Astrea again. Cantomagi were rare amongst witches and wizards, just like true seers or Metamorphagi. It was the ability to channel magic through singing instead of a wand; from what he had heard, it was an extremely difficult discipline, too. Madame Lorelei was famous for her severity, and for never settling for anything that was less than perfect from her singers. Remus couldn't really fault that, though: he remembered a chorister coming into the Hospital Wing once with a pumpkin for a head because someone had sung a B flat instead of an A natural. Or something like that, anyway - it was quite hard to understand a talking pumpkin. 

Remus felt a funny fluttering in the pit of his stomach as he thought about what the others had said earlier, and his cheeks coloured. He hadn't really noticed Astrea until their third year, when they chose their subjects and ended up in the same Ancient Runes class; but since then, he'd found it increasingly hard not to. She was a Ravenclaw - Keeper on the Quidditch team - with fair skin, long, honey-blonde hair and thyme-flower eyes. Aside from Ancient Runes, they didn't have alot of classes together, but Remus had gathered that her strong subjects covered practical classes like Charms, Arithmancy and so on; in Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, she was a fairly average student, and that gave Remus some hope.  
He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Dumbledore's speech, just as Astrea threw a fleeting glance back over her shoulder. 

Over the table, Sirius was watching amusedly. 

"Dr Potter?" He whispered. 

"Yes, Dr Black?" 

"Mr Moony's case of chronic lovesickness has just been clinically confirmed." 

"How is the patient, Dr Black?" 

Sirius thought for a moment. 

"Beetroot-coloured, Dr Potter." 

-- 

Later that evening, Astrea sat curled up on her bed, her nose deep in 'Savant's Codex of Rara Avis', whilst her dorm-mates unpacked their trunks. Holly Palmer was carefully adjusting a moving photograph of her boyfriend on her beside-table, and Magdalena Hocks was piling text books out of her old tea chest. 

"So're you taking lessons again this year?" 

Astrea didn't reply; she had come to a particularly interesting paragraph on Kelpies. 

"Rea!" 

She looked up. 

"What?" 

Donna Brown stood across the dormitory, half-way through unfolding a set of robes. 

"Are you taking lessons this year?" 

"_Every_one takes lessons _every_ year: it's compulsary." Astrea shrugged. 

"Yeah, but it's _O.W.L._ year." 

The toffee-haired witch set down her book. 

"You just want to escape the tyranny of Madame Screech." 

Donna made a face. 

"Like you don't! She made me sing the whole of that phrase in the concealing spell, on my own, infront of everyone, just because-" 

"Because it was a dotted minim on the ninth beat and not a crochet." Astrea finished in a monotonous voice. "Yes, she's a hag, and don't we all know it." 

"She doesn't pick on you." Donna said in a slightly resentful tone. 

"Not in choir - she saves it up so that she can be excessively vindictive in my lessons. She called me back every evening for a week to practise the top-top E in the 'voxis vocis' spell." 

"Top-top E?! But you're a mezzo-soprano, aren't you?" 

"Yes." 

"And she made you sing the top-top E instead of the A?" 

"Yes. She said 'any self-respecting mezzo' should be able to hit a top-top E." 

"Bet that stung." 

"It does when you're a mezzo who struggles to hit a top G sharp." 

Donna smiled and directed her robes towards the wardrobe with a steady, sustained middle C. 

"I noticed Lupin was checking you out from the Gryffindor table." 

Astrea raised her eyebrows. 

"Whatever, Donna." 

"No, he really was!" Donna smirked. "Blatantly has the hots for-" 

She shrieked as a cushion hurtled from Astrea's side of the dorm. 

"Shut up!" Astrea laughed, grabbing another throw pillow from her bed. 

"Ugh - _mezzo!_" 

"Ugh - _sop!_" 

"Pillow fight!" Holly cried, leaping in to join the fray, and promptly covering all in the close vicinity with feathers. 

"You're so immature! I can't _believe_ they let you into the fifth year!" Magdalena said. 

"Get over it, Mags." Astrea grinned, and pelted her with a cushion. 

-- 

**_Now_**

Astrea stirred in bed, and inched open her eyes. The bedroom moved into focus, and she found herself half-wishing that she hadn't opened her eyes at all. It was dim and dingy, and the wallpaper was an old, peeling teal-grey colour with a black printed pattern. The drapes at the window were dark too, and hung like ragged cloaks from their rail near the high ceiling. Only a long, oval mirror adorned the far left wall, and Astrea closed her eyes again as she let her head fall back on the pillow: this was not a cheerful way to wake up. 

She dozed on and off for a few minutes, but finally resolved herself to surfacing when the desire to sleep any longer wore off; she levered herself up onto her elbows, and swung her legs out of bed. And it was then that she was hit by the smell. 

It was an absolutely awful smell, so strong and repulsive that she wondered why on earth she hadn't noticed it before. Clamping her hands over her nose, she carefully slipped off the mattress, and stood up, glancing round for any obvious sources. When she found none, she then got down on her knees, and lifted the covers that hung over the edge of the bed to look underneath. A moment later, she let them fall back again with a shudder. 

"Ah! Good morning, dear. How are you feeling?" 

Mrs Weasley smiled warmly as Astrea poked her head into the kitchen. 

"Good morning, Molly! I'm fine, thank you; it's lovely to see you again." Astrea's smile faltered slightly. "Erm...there's a dead house-elf under my bed." 

The red-haired witch turned from the cauldron she had been labouring over with a start. 

"What?" 

"There's a dead house-elf under my bed." Astrea repeated, indicating upstairs. "I thought I ought to come and tell someone." 

Mrs Weasley wiped her hands on her apron and sighed. 

"That'll be Kreacher. We were wondering why we hadn't seen him recently. I was going to make you some breakfast, but...oh, never mind! You sit here and have something to eat, and I'll go upstairs." 

"Thank you." 

Astrea seated herself at the table, and watched while Mrs Weasley bustled about the kitchen. 

"What time is it?" 

"It's half past twelve, dear." Mrs Weasley replied, her eyes never leaving the slice of toast she was smothering with marmalade. 

"I slept in _that_ late?" Astrea exclaimed. 

"Well, we let you rest. You had a traumatic time last night." 

"Mmm." 

Astrea ran a hand through her tousled hair. 

"Who else is here?" 

"Everyone's out doing things for the Order at the moment. Dumbledore called early this morning to see if you got here alright." 

"He came to check?" Astrea smiled. "That was good of him." 

"He was worried about you." Mrs Weasley smiled back. "Normally, it's just Remus here; Arthur and I come down frequently, of course, and so do Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, and Mundungus Fletcher," She added with some distaste. "The children will be coming in about a week's time, too." 

"The children?" Astrea shifted. "You mean your children?" 

"Oh, _and_ Harry, and Hermione Granger, too. You know which Harry I'm talking about, of course." 

Astrea swallowed. 

"_Harry_...I haven't seen him since..." 

"You'll recognise him, don't worry." Mrs Weasley said gently, putting a plate of bacon, eggs and toast and a cup of tea down infront of the witch. "Now, I'll just pop upstairs and sort out that mess. Get something inside you, for heaven's sake!" 

Astrea took a bite out of her toast, and watched Mrs Weasley leave the kitchen. 

"Well well well," She murmured as she reached for her teacup. "Harry in his sixth year of Hogwarts. Sounds like I've been missing quite a bit..." 

-- 


	3. Watching your step

Author's notes: This third chapter took so much longer to write than I thought it would! But, thank heaven, it is finally done, and in the meantime, I have three reviews to give thanks for (which I forgot to put in the second chapter - my bad!), so here you go: 

heather: (laughs) I'm really sorry you got bored! I hope you're attention span improves ;) If you have any suggestions you want to give as to how you think I can make this more interesting, by all means fire away - I'm always open to any advice for improvement on my work. Thanks for leaving a review regardless, m'hunni :) I hope you find the rest of the story more enthralling! 

A-is-for-Amy: Well, the pleasure's all mine! Thanks for leaving me such a great review. It's nice to get praise much of the time, but it's even nicer to get some good C.C. from someone; I'm also flattered that I have an adult who's enjoying my work!!! I'm glad that you found Astrea a comfortable character to get to know - she's come a long way from how and who she was when I originally drafted the basic ideas for this fic, but I'm pleased with the developments she's made. Hopefully I'm taking her in the opposite direction from a Mary-Sue (though please warn me if she starts to creep back again!); it's both amusing and frustrating to find that even OCs can come out-of-character sometimes! As for where I'm taking this story, well, I'll just have to leave you in suspense there, m'dear ;) Thanks for such a lovely review, and I hope I hear more from you soon. 

Werewolf's One(): Aha, do I detect, from your name, that you are a Remus fan? :) Yes, don't worry - there's plenty more where that came from! Thank you for your praise, and I'm really pleased that you enjoyed the first chapter; I'm also relieved that someone thinks I have the canons in character!!! Here's the third bit: hope you enjoy it as much as you did the first. **__**

**__**Disclaimer: Astrea, Tryn, the Nox gang, Flaxen Greenwood and Venera Ravenstone are my dirty work - everything else belongs to the wonderfully talented Mistress Rowling! 

Spoilers: PoA and OotP 

Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;) 

-- 

**_Then_**

"Potions first thing on a Wednesday?!" Peter quailed. 

Remus frowned at his timetable, and swallowed his mouthful of toast. 

"That's nothing compared to History of Magic first thing on a Monday." 

"Well, I always say it's good to start the week with a sleep-in." Said Sirius, stretching so that a few girls eagerly craned their necks to cast his admiring looks. 

"It _is_ our O.W.L. year, Sirius." Remus said reprovingly. "It's important to be staying _awake_ in lessons." 

"Oh, come on, Moony. I could wing History of Magic if I was blindfolded and the paper were backwards." 

"If you were blindfolded, then the fact that the paper was backwards wouldn't matter." 

"No one likes a smart-alec at breakfast, Moony." 

"Then I suggest you leave quickly, Sirius - you're upsetting people." 

"Shut up." 

"Certainly." 

"Hey hey!" James grinned, suddenly pointing at something on the timetable. "We have Herbology with the Ravenclaws this year." 

"Moony can have a rumble with his girl in the flowerbeds." 

Remus glared at Sirius. 

"Remind me to hex you later." 

"Will do," Sirius glubbed through his goblet of orange juice. 

The volume of chatter down the table suddenly flared as a someone came and sat down amidst a group of chattering girls. James' hand was at his hair within an instant: it was Lily. 

"Morning, Evans." He said. 

Remus felt the corners of his mouth twitching as Lily turned her head to give James a long, level glance. 

"Morning." She said flatly. 

"You hear what happened to Snape on the train yesterday?" James asked nonchalantly, barely able to stay cool. 

Lily selected a piece of toast. 

"Oh yeah - some pathetic owl-brain hexed him." She replied uninterestedly, ignoring the look on James' face. "Old news, Potter." 

James' mouth opened and closed several times, so that he vaguely resembled a goldfish. 

"Nice going, mate." Sirius whispered in his ear. 

Someone down the other side of the table snorted. 

"Something funny, McTaggart?" James sniped nastily. 

A girl with short, deep purple hair and dark eyes adorned a sympathetic tone and gazed sorrowfully at him. 

"So many women...so little charm." 

"Go harass a toad, McTaggart." James growled. Tryn McTaggart smirked at him over her coffee cup. "I don't know if you noticed who got Captaincy of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team this year." 

McTaggart's face darkened. 

"Just 'coz you're a stinking Seeker..." 

"Still got it though, didn't I?" It was James' turn to smirk. 

Down the table, Lily rolled her eyes and murmured: 

"He's so immature." 

"Wha-?" 

James whipped round to look at her. Sirius was siphoning his mirth into chasing a pickled onion round his plate with a fork; Peter was watching the exchange like a tennis match, and Remus was laughing into his apple juice. 

"I! Bu-j...I..." 

"Oh, forget it." Lily said to her friend, dropping her napkin on the table and getting to her feet. "I'm not hungry." 

James watched her go with a kind of horrified gormlessness. Sirius raised his eyebrows as he shovelled a forkful of bacon and eggs into his mouth. 

"Good luck asking _her_ to the Hallowe'en Ball." He said. 

-- 

**_Now_**

"What?" Lupin exclaimed. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned. 

"I said...is that portrait still in the Main Hall?" 

"Oh," Lupin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought...never mind. Yes, it is, unfortunately; we've not been able to get it down. Molly and I have been trying all Summer." 

Kingsley gave a deep laugh. 

"Good luck, Remus - 'looks like the old crone's planning to stay here for quite some time." 

"Mmm." 

They drifted into the kitchen, and the weight in Remus' chest lifted slightly as his eyes alighted on the fire burning cheerily in the hearth. 

"Can I get you anything?" He asked, slinging his cloak over a nearby chair-back. 

"Coffee, please." 

Remus nodded and busied himself with a couple of mugs. Kingsley glanced around the chamber. 

"You've done some cleaning out." He noted with approval. 

"Much-needed cleaning, too." 

"I notice the elf-heads are still up on the staircase." 

"Well, I find myself growing strangely attached to them..." Remus gave Kingsley a twisted smile over his shoulder. The black wizard returned it somewhat more incredulously. 

"You're not, are you?" 

"No." Remus chuckled, reaching for the milk bottle. "Er - black or white?" 

"White, please, Remus." 

There was the sound of milk being added to the coffee, followed by the chinking of a spoon. Lupin turned from the work surface and passed Kingsley a mug across the table. 

"I gather Potter'll be arriving in a few days." Kingsley said after taking a long sip. 

Lupin nodded. 

"And his O.W.L. results will follow him about a week after that, I should imagine." 

"No guesses as to how he'll've done." Said Kingsley. 

"No. Very bright young man," Remus smiled reminiscently. "Much like James was, of course." 

"I'm still surprised Dumbledore didn't make Potter a prefect. Did he ever end up saying why?" 

Lupin shook his head. 

"Dumbledore very rarely explains his ways and means, but I'm sure they were for the best." 

"I'm not saying they weren't, Remus. I was just surprised, that's all." 

"You shouldn't be so negative about surprises, Kingsley; they're fun!" 

The two men looked round to see Astrea wander into the kitchen. She still looked pale and shadowy-eyed to Remus, but she was smiling broadly at the sight of her old schoolmate. Kingsley blinked. 

"Astrea?" 

"Yes indeed, sir." She came forward and peered into Kingsley's face as she shook his outstretched hand. 

"How long has it been, now? Sixteen years? You're looking old, Shacklebolt." 

Kingsley grinned. 

"Well, we don't all age as gracefully as yourself." 

"Some more clumsily than others, in fact." Lupin remarked over his mug with a wry smile. 

"It is _possible_ to age clumsily?" 

"You're looking at someone who did, my dear." 

Astrea made an 'oh' with her mouth and smiled. 

"What you lost in looks you gained in wisdom, Remus." Said Kingsley in his deep voice. 

Remus laughed. 

"I was never fortunate with my looks to begin with; unlike Sirius..." 

He suddenly went very quiet. Then after a moment, a smile crept over his features, and he met the gazes of his friends. 

"I remember in Charms, how-" 

"How the girls all used to stare at him." Astrea finished, wearing the same slightly sad, reminiscent smile. 

"You remember that?" 

Astrea looked up at Remus and nodded. 

"Mhmm; it _was_ a little hard not to notice, wasn't it? Elenna Gascoigne," She interrupted herself, and looked at Kingsley. "Didn't you go out with her for a while?" 

"In the sixth year, yeah." Said Kingsley. 

"Yes, that's right. W'I remember," She laughed. "I remember he was always flirting with her. Dropping lines, that sort of thing; he really used to string those girls along." 

"He loved it." Smiled Lupin. "He and James were such a pair." 

"And James and Lily." Said Astrea. 

Remus chuckled. 

"How could I forget?" 

"You, Sirius, James and Peter," Said Kingsley. "Used to drive McGonagall crazy." 

Astrea summoned the coffee jar and an empty mug to the table with a commanding note. 

"I remember hearing something about people tripping over in Transfiguration once." She said, digging a spoon into the coffee powder. "What was that all about?" 

"Oh, that was..." Lupin clicked his fingers as he waited for it to come back to him. "Yes - James put tripping hexes in the aisles between every desk." 

Astrea raised her eyes from filling her mug. 

"I knew it had something to do with you four." 

Lupin's eyes twinkled as he sipped his coffee. 

"Most every suspicious prank that went on at Hogwarts had something to do with us..." 

-- 

**_Then_**

"Mr Malfoy, are you unable, for some reason, to maintain control over your feet?" 

Lucius Malfoy glared up at Professor McGonagall from where he lay sprawled on the floor in a mess of robes. The whole class was giggling from the security of their desks - some craning their necks to see, wearing grins that nearly split their faces in two - but no one was finding the 'accident' more amusing than the four boys seated at back of the chamber: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. 

"It's 'cos of that massive head of his," Sirius was snickering. "He finds it hard to keep his balance." 

Lucius was now attempting to struggle to his feet, his pale face flushing with embarrassment as he angrily swiped his robes out of the way; but Crabbe, Goyle and Avery chose that precise same moment to enter the classroom and come trundling up behind him. They were so absorbed in the shock that the whole class appeared to be laughing at them that they quite neglected to pay attention to where they were walking; a second later, there was a sudden cry of alarm, several loud thuds, and the pile of bodies in the central aisle of the classroom had doubled in size. And so had the amount of laughter. 

James and Sirius were practically weeping, the latter banging his fist on the table, whilst Remus and Peter leant on one another for support. James tried to say something, but his sobs were stealing all the air from his lungs; the most he could manage was a high-pitched wheeze. McGonagall surveyed the winded Lucius and his cronies with an expression of stern disapproval; and yet, strangely, the corners of her mouth were twitching. 

"I would think that Slytherins might have more dignity." She assessed, pursing her thin lips. "Now would you please remove yourselves from the floor, and get to your seats?" 

Lucius growled something under his breath, but was quickly silenced as he had the wind knocked out of him for a second time by Goyle, who had stumbled as he rose and collapsed back down ontop of him. 

Sirius sighed contentedly at the back of the class, turning a few heads, and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. McGonagall's piercing gaze quickly turned on him. 

"Do you have something amusing that you wish to share with the rest of us, Mr Black?" She asked sharply. 

"No, Professor. Of course not." Sirius replied with a remarkably convincing straight face. 

Professor McGonagall kept him fixed under her stare just until he started to quail. Then she turned her attention the registry scroll. 

"Ace?" 

"Yes, Professor." 

"Aines?" 

"Yes, Professor." 

"Aswell?" 

"Yes, Professor." 

"Stroke of genius, Jamsie, m'boy," Whispered Sirius, leaning across. "Waiting until dear Lucius arrived." 

"I try, dear Padfoot; I try." James smiled back. "Crabbe, Goyle and Avery were just a bonus." 

"I must commend them on their perfect sense of comedic timing." Remus grinned, opening his text book. "I thought winding Lucius a second time was a _particularly_ nice touch." 

Sirius cackled and gave James a high-five. Across the classroom, Lucius scowled at them from his desk, and openly fingered his wand as though contemplating a hex. 

The Marauders - such as they had named themselves - had quickly discovered that Slytherins were worthy subjects of their 'affections', as Sirius liked to refer to it; especially the members of the Nox gang, who had a wonderfully entertaining habit of harbouring embarrassment grudges, which were endless fun to play on. Providing, of course, that they never caught up with you afterwards. The Nox gang was a group of students from the upper years, mostly from Slytherin, all of whom shared some funny ideas about blood (their motto being 'Summasanguis - superior blood): among their members were Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Lestrange, Rookwood, Dolohov, two of the Black sisters, a particularly nasty piece of work called Flaxen Greenwood and her friend Venera Ravenstone. Other than Snape, there were no people at Hogwarts whom the Marauders loved to see suffer more. 

At the front of the chamber, Professor McGonagall concluded her register and slipped it back into a desk drawer with a flick of her wand. 

"Today, class," She clasped her hands in a business-like manner. "We are starting your revision sessions in preparation for your O.W.L. exams. In the next few months, we will be recapping on everything you have learnt over the past four years, so I shall be expecting _double_ the amount of concentration I normally receive from you all - which won't amount to much, in some cases." She added, throwing a deliberate glance at the four boys in the back row of her class. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter exchanged grins. "Let's begin, then. Would you turn to page 43 in your textbooks, and have your wands to hand, please." 

It was a boringly easy lesson, for certain students in the class. The task was to transfigure a candlestick into a snake and back again; Sirius scoffed. 

"This is the sort of stuff we have to do at Ordinary Wizarding Level?" He asked, staring disdainfully down his nose at the tea-green coloured candle infront of him. "Pathetic. A _first year_ could do this!" 

Peter, who was looking rather less self-assured, cast him a slightly resentful look. 

James' subject flickered back and forth between snake and candlestick for a while, until eventually he tired of showing off. With a flick of his wand, he stopped it at the half-way point, the result being a beautifully detailed and realistic wax snake with a wick protruding from its mouth. He casually slipped into his robe pocket, and then turned his attention to watching his friends' work. 

"First Hogsmeade weekend's coming up in a few weeks." He said quietly. 

"Excellent." Said Sirius, idly transfiguring his snake which was making an escape-attempt off the edge of the desk. "I need to go to Zonko's and stock up on Dungbombs again. I can't believe how low I'm running!" He added, making a face. 

"Well, if you hadn't got so boom-happy when we were raiding Filch's Office..." Said Remus. 

James and Sirius both made rueful noises of reluctant agreement. 

"It was worth it, though." Sirius amended with a grin. "Filch's face when he came round the corner; he couldn't get rid of the stench for days!" 

"Months, more like." Said James. "I'm sure I still get a whiff whenever I'm walk past." 

"Nah - that's just Filch." 

When the bell finally went, the usual palaver of everyone jumping up and cramming themselves into the aisles commenced, and being nearest the door, the boys were able to slip out quickly amidst the chaos before they came a-cropper of Lucius and his gaggle. Crossing the courtyard, Remus checked his timetable. 

"I have Astrology now, so that means that you, Sirius and Peter have Divination." He said to James. 

Sirius groaned. 

"Why'd I take that?" 

"Because James did." Said Remus with a slight smile. 

James gave him a confused look. 

"I thought Astrology was an after-hours class?" 

Remus shook his head. 

"No: that's Astronomy. Anyway, I've got to go this way," He indicated down the left-hand corridor of the T-junction they had come to. "I'll see you later." 

"See you, Moony." James gave him a wave as he, Sirius and Peter turned up the other passage. Remus hefted his bag and started walking. 

The school grounds were definitely starting to take on an autumnal gild; the virginia creepers that swarmed up archways and walls had turned a deep, vibrant scarlet, and the leaves on the trees were a colourful mix of green and golden-yellow. The sun was mild, and the sky a warm blue, with little puffy white child's-drawing clouds ferrying across it. Remus closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath - the breeze smelt crisp and earthy. Yes, today was a good day. Or, so he thought... 

"There he is." 

Remus glanced back over his shoulder, and promptly felt his blood freeze. Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery and Rookwood were advancing on him with faces like storm clouds; Malfoy had his wand out. 

"Your sense of humour is amusing, Lupin." He snarled. 

Remus kept a calm face. 

"I'm glad you think so." 

"Perhaps you won't be finding things quite so funny now that your big friends Potter and Black aren't here to save you." 

"We'll see." Said Remus; his hand was quietly slipping inside his robes for his wand. 

Then something caught his eye that paused his hand where it was - something moving by Lucius' feet. Remus chanced a quick glance down. He saw that the laces of Malfoy's shoes were gradually unknotting themselves from their neat bows, and retying themselves together of their own accord. Behind him, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery and Rookwood's shoelaces were doing the same. Remus began to smile. 

"What are you smirking at Lu-" 

Malfoy's sneer cut off abruptly as he went to take another stride, and found he couldn't. His eyes widened in surprise as he teetered on the edge for a moment, frantically windmilled his arms in an attempt to stay upright, and then came crashing down onto the flagstones. His goons, with exclamations of surprise, were not far behind him. 

Laughter erupted in the passageway from the students who had been passing and stopped to watch, and some even started applauding at the sight of the five Slytherins lying crumpled in a heap. Two figures in the crowd caught Remus' eye: Astrea Ravenstone, standing next to Tryn McTaggart who still had her wand out, flashed him a smile. Remus felt a blush rise swiftly to his face as he smiled back and gave her a nod. 

Then, turning his attention back to Lucius, he collected himself and met the seething Slytherin's glare calmly. 

"Second time that's happened today, isn't it?" He asked lightly, stooping forward a little to look down. "I'd be more careful if I were you, Lucius - you want to watch your step." 

And with that, he straightened up, turned on his heel, and continued coolly on his way to Astrology, leaving Lucius to recover what was left of his tattered ego.**__**

**__**--**__**

**_Now_**

**__**Astrea and Remus' laughter sighed to depletion, whilst Kingsley wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. 

"Oh, those were the days, eh?" Remus smiled. 

"If only we could get away with doing that to Malfoy now." Grinned Kingsley. "The world would be a better place." 

Astrea gave a little hiccough of laughter, and examined her empty coffee mug. 

"Well, you'll never guess what happened to me this morning." She said. 

"What?" 

"I found a dead house-elf under my bed." 

"Really?" Kingsley straightened up interestedly. 

Remus frowned slightly. 

"Kreacher?" 

"That's what Molly said." Nodded Astrea. 

Remus sighed. 

"Yes - it would be. He was the Blacks' old servant; Sirius hated him with a passion." 

There was a thoughtful silence. 

"Well, I guess that's effectively the last remnant of the Black family gone from this house, then." Said Kingsley in a soft voice. 

Looking up from his mug, Remus gave the wizard a wry smile. 

"Not quite..." He said. 

As if on queue, there came the sound of the doorbell, quickly followed by a hideous shrieking out in the hall. Astrea clapped her hands over her ears and screwed her eyes shut. 

"What the hell is that?!" She exclaimed. 

"Oh, of course!" Lupin smiled cheerfully as he got to his feet. "You haven't been introduced to the dear Mrs Black yet, have you?" 

Astrea looked at him, and then glanced out at the hallway. 

"Erm...it's alright Remus," She said, as a rather harried-looking Tonks appeared in the doorway. "I think I'll pass on that one for now." 

-- 


	4. Dimming of the Day

Author's note: Great! Two more reviews! Keep 'em coming, guys - I'm keen to know how I'm doing this one. I apologise that these first few chapters have been so slow, but they serve the purpose of setting the scene; I promise that once things get going, the story'll pick up; but until then, please bear with me :) I promise it'll be worth it! Right, onto the thank-yous: 

MissMoony16: Yay, another fellow Moony fan! Here's your update, m'luv; you want me to give Remmy a proper girlfriend? Yeah, the poor guy does deserve some love, doesn't he? Well, you'll just have to keep reading to find out... 

hogwash: Ah, now, someone picked me up on this one in the last version of this fic: yes, the nicknames did come from their animagus forms, but I'm sort of using creative license in that I figured they would have an idea of what animal they were studying to turn into. It could just have been lucky coincidence that two of them were large enough to handle a werewolf, and one was small enough to get past the Whomping Willow, but you see where I coming from on this one, right? Thanks for your review, and I hope you continue to enjoy reading :) 

A tip for everyone while you read this: the first little bit plays out nicely to the accompanimentof Bonny Raitt's 'Dimming of the Day', probably due to the fact that that is what it was written to (note the title of this chapter). So if you have the 'Longing in Their Hearts' album to hand (_the_ musical influence for this fic), stick it in your CD player, put track 7 on repeat and kick back for a read. Enjoy... 

Disclaimer: The wonderful world of the Marauders and Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling; the dregs left at the bottom would be mine ;) 

Spoilers: PoA and OotP 

Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;) 

_--_

_"Please believe me when I say I wanted to be there." She said, leaning forward suddenly in the eagerness of her pleading. "I wanted to be there, fighting on the front line with everyone else! I really did!" _

_"Sirius was just the same." He shook his head ruefully. "Confined to the house, wishing he could be out there with the rest of us, doing things for the Order." He sighed. "In a way, it makes me all the more glad you're here now." _

_She smiled slightly. _

_"So you can 'keep an eye on me'?" _

_He laughed quietly. _

_"That's just it."_

... 

_He could still hear the muffled noises of the party as he climbed the stairs; the laughter, the happy voices, the music. But his steps dragged as though his feet were made of lead, and each one seemed to be an effort - with every inch he moved up the staircase, his heart sunk a little lower in his chest._

_All too soon, he was confronting the door on the landing, and the tightness in his chest grew. As he reached for the handle, he hesitated; a significant change to his life lay on the other side - did he really want to see it happen?_

_Steeling himself with a deep breath, he grasped the handle and turned it._

... 

_A door opening; a young woman stooping over a trunk at the foot of her bed, her face drawn and her complexion weak. Dropping one last folded robe into the chest, she straightens up, heaves a sigh and shuts the lid. A wrench somewhere in his chest as the young witch whirls a travelling cloak around her shoulders and turns to face him..._

... 

_He stepped across the threshold, and quietly pushed the door closed behind him. Then he smiled slightly._

_"James told me you were up here."_

_She nodded. There was an enormous raven perched on one of the bed posts, and a piece of parchment with fold-creases lay opened on the quilt._

_"You're leaving." It was more a statement than a question._

_She raised her eyebrows and nodded wearily as she stooped to pick up a large carpet bag standing by her ankle._

_"Yes. We've had word through the family that the Dark Lord's going after the witches and wizards who oppose him. They want me to go back to the Abbey."_

_He nodded. He could feel something sinking inside of him. In an effort to keep his composure, he looked away for a moment, his eyes boring into the rain-slashed latticed window on the other side of the room._

_"You'll be alright?" He asked, if only for the want of needing to say something._

_Though tiredly, she smiled at him - nearly beamed - and hefted the bag she held infront of her with two hands._

_"Yes, thank you."_

_There was a pause. He opened his mouth to say something more; almost didn't say it as he felt his courage leave him; and then in one last effort, summoned the strength he didn't have for the final thing he needed to say. _

_"...I'm sorry."_

_Having watched him avidly, she tried to keep the smile and hide the tears as she nodded. She failed._

_"Remus, me too."_

... 

_He sat by the window, watching the rain washing down the glass, hoping for any sign of something that might be carrying a letter. It had been a whole week now, and still no word. And it was driving him mad._

_He felt someone come up behind him, and glanced back over his shoulder._

_"I don't think we're going to hear anything, Remus." Said Sirius. "She's in hiding; they'll have told her not to risk any kind of communication when there's a possibility it might be intercepted."_

_Remus breathed hard down his nose in a sigh, and turned back to the window._

_"Remus, do you **want** her to get caught?" Sirius demanded._

_"No, of course I don't!" Said Remus sharply, throwing his friend a razor-bladed look. "Don't be ridiculous, Sirius!"_

_Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair._

_"I'm sorry Moony." He said quietly. "I know you don't. I just...I'm sorry - I don't know why I said that."_

_Remus looked out of the window again, and then tipped his head to rest against the wall of the alcove and closed his eyes. Sirius watched him soberly._

_"You still never told her." He said then, smiling slightly._

_Remus opened an eye and looked at him._

_"Told her what?"_

_"That you love her."_

_Remus smiled and closed his eyes again._

_"How many times have we been through this, Padfoot?"_

_"A frustratingly countless number of times, as I recall, Moony." Sirius replied. "But obviously still not enough it to get through that fuzzy head of yours."_

_"It's not like that, Sirius."_

_Sirius snorted._

_"It **is**."_

_"It's really not."_

_"No, it really is."_

_Remus threw him an incredulous smile._

_"Did you **ever** grow up, Padfoot?"_

_Sirius pointed to his chest._

_"**I **am the **original** boy who never grew up, Moony. James and Peter what's-his-face just copied me."_

_Remus shook his head._

_"It was never like that with her, Padfoot. We're friends. Good friends."_

_"What **is** that word that comes to mind?" Sirius asked himself with mock pensiveness. He folded his arms, tapped his chin with a finger and squinted outrageously at the ceiling. "Something to do with 'it was **never** like that'...erm...ooh, heavens...it's right there on the tip of my tongue...**right** **there**...erm...h-H-...Hogwarts!"_

_Remus laughed and shook his head._

_"Fine. Fine! So I **may** have had a crush on her at Hogwarts." He shrugged. "Is that going to haunt me for the rest of my adult life?"_

_"It just might, Remus," Sirius smiled as he turned from the window. "It just might."_

... 

**_Now_**

Remus opened his eyes. Everything was pitch black, and he could feel the pillow beneath his cheek as he shifted in bed. He sighed: a dream. Of course. He rolled over onto his back and stared up into the darkness at where the canopy should have been. 

For so long, he hadn't recalled any of these memories. None of them. And now, suddenly, he could remember - could think of nothing but. Over the past week, so many things had come back to him; and not just about her. About his time with Sirius and James and Peter at Hogwarts; the few happy years they shared after that, before James and Lily had died. But yes, he admitted, mostly they were about her. 

Smiling at his own bewilderment, Remus tipped his head back and closed his eyes; just like all those years ago at the window. 

"Oh damn it, Sirius," He sighed. "What am I going to do?" 

Then he opened his eyes as the answer suddenly came to him. 

"Tea." He told himself, throwing back the covers and reaching for his dressing gown. 

-- 

The door stood ajar, light streaming out across the landing carpet. Remus, paused at the top of the stairs with a steaming mug in his hand, looked at it for a moment and then took an absent-minded sip of tea. It was Astrea's room. 

There were sounds of movement from inside as he approached the door. Cautiously, after a slight hesitation, he knocked lightly on the woodwork. He cleared his throat. 

"Astrea? It's Remus - can I come in?" 

"Yes, of course." Came the reply from the other side. 

Remus pushed open the door and stuck his head round; 

'_Oh dear lord..._' 

Astrea was straightening up from stooping over her trunk, holding a folded robe; she was clad in an old shirt, women's briefs, and not much else. Remus felt his face flush furiously and quickly ducked out again. 

"Erm...maybe it's best if I _don't_ come in." He said with a slight catch in his voice. 

There was the sound of feet crossing the room, and Lupin felt the door handle pulled out of his grasp as the door was opened. Astrea gave looked out at him with a small smile, her head surrounded by a tousled halo of gold where the light from the bedroom caught in her hair. Lupin saw that she had donned a dressing gown, much to his relief. 

Noticing the vivid blush that lingered in his cheeks, Astrea's eyes twinkled, and she gave a little shake of her head. 

"It's alright, you can come in now - I'm respectfully dressed." She said, the corners of her mouth twitching. She indicated back into the bedroom with a jerk of her head. "I couldn't sleep, so I've been doing some more unpacking." 

Lupin raised an eyebrow. 

"You've been here for the best part of a week, and you still haven't fully unpacked?" 

Astrea shrugged somewhat ruefully. 

"I've been stuck in mostly the same place for the last fifteen years or so." She said. "I've lost the discipline." 

"Ah." 

Astrea drummed her fingers reminiscently on the woodwork for a moment, and then shook herself out of her reverie. 

"Sorry, Remus - come in." She smiled. She reached for Remus' elbow and gently ushered him over the threshold. 

The light in the room was coming from the serpent-shaped chandelier that hung overhead; but now that Remus' eyes had become accustomed to its contrast with the darkness, the light seemed much dimmer all of a sudden, and the candles guttered in their holders as though a pair of invisible lips were trying to blow them out. Astrea's trunk stood open at the foot of her bed, surrounded by piles of folded clothing, books and various other miscellany. Her raven, Artemis, whose arrival earlier that day had been announced by a clang of the doorbell - everyone else apart from his owner was still impressed by the intelligence of the feat - was nestled dozily amid a jumble of blankets in an open drawer. The mirror on the far wall was murmuring incoherently in its sleep. 

Lupin turned his attention from the left and glanced over at the bed on his right: the covers were strewn back in a disarray, and one of the pillows still bore a deep dent from where Astrea had slept. But it wasn't that which drew his gaze: lying on the quilt, its leather cover gleaming dully in the candlelight, was Astrea's ancient, fraying and battered copy of 'Savant's Codex of Rara Avis'. Remus left Astrea's side and crossed to the bed, set down his tea on the floor, and hefted up the tome. 

"Good Lord!" He exclaimed, smiling. "I remember this! I had no idea you still had it!" 

"I couldn't get rid of it." Said Astrea, walking over to join him. "Too many fond memories of all the times it saved my life in Defense Against the Dark Arts." 

Lupin chuckled, and set it back down on the covers. 

"Speaking of DADA..." 

Astrea's tone was suddenly more serious, and she settled herself on the bed. Lupin bent to pick up his tea and followed her example. 

"Are you going to take up Dumbledore's offer?" She asked. 

Remus took a sip from his mug and then lowered it thoughtfully. 

"Well...I thought about it. I'm really not sure it's a good idea if I do." 

"You should." 

Lupin shook his head. 

"You weren't there to see what happened last time. The whole school knows! It won't just be the students who have a problem with my appointment, either: the parents will complain, and that will get Dumbledore in trouble with the Ministry." He sighed. "I'm not prepared to put him through all that ontop of everything else he has to deal with right now." 

Astrea's eyes were twinkling. 

"It was Dumbledore who offered you the job in the first place, Remus." She said. "Secondly, I highly doubt that hiring you will get Dumbledore into any more trouble with the Ministry than he was before." 

Lupin smiled, and then chuckled into his tea. 

"I see your point." 

Astrea paused for a moment, and idly fiddled with a corner of the bedclothes. "Look, I heard about that anti-werewolf bill that Umbridge drafted; Remus, at least _think_ about taking the job." 

"The only other problem, of course," Lupin persisted. "Is that I wouldn't be free to do as many errands for the Order." 

"Neither would I if I were to take the job they're offering me." 

"Which you should." 

The toffee-haired witch thought for a moment, and then said: 

"Snape's a member of the Order, isn't he?" 

"Yes." Said Lupin slowly. 

"Yes, and _he_ teaches, so surely you'll be able to cope just as well as he does." Astrea glanced down almost guiltily and cast him a look from beneath her eyelashes. "Anyway, I can't pretend I wouldn't be happy about you not being able to run as many errands for the Order." 

Lupin smiled and set down his tea down on the bedside cabinet. 

"I'm a big boy, Rea - I can look after myself." 

"And I'm sure James or Sirius would have said exactly the same if they were here now." Astrea said quietly. 

She leaned over and slipped her arms around Remus in a firm hug. 

"This is a war, Rea," Lupin whispered in her ear, holding her tightly to him. "People get hurt in wars, and there's nothing anyone can do to change that." 

He shivered slightly as he felt her warm breath blush on his neck. She nodded into his shoulder, and drew back. 

"I know." 

She looked sad only for a moment longer, and then, suddenly beaming, she reached out and squeezed his arm. 

"It's _so_ _good_...to see you again." 

Remus smiled; gently taking her hand from his arm, he took it between his own. 

"You too." 

-- 

**_Then_**

Remus settled a little further back into his armchair with a biscuit and checked his agenda sheet. It was their second prefect meeting of the term, and already the novelty of the whole thing was close to wearing off. Head boy and girl that year were Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh-years Tom Colville and Camilla-Anne Beauregard, the first of which had an arrogance unbecoming of his boot-size, and the latter of which had an unhealthy habit of regarding everyone down the length of her nose. 

While Tom's voice droned on in the background, Remus' eyes darted across to Astrea, seated next to her twin on the couch. She was watching Camilla-Anne brush imaginary specks of dust off her skirt with one eyebrow slightly raised and her eyes betraying an otherwise well-hidden air of reserved distaste. Caspian's thyme-coloured eyes were focused on Tom, his hands resting in his lap and his pale face characteristically sombre. Remus took a bite of his biscuit and turned his attention back to the Head boy. 

"So, as we all know, the Hallowe'en Ball is coming up soon, and Dumbledore has left it to the prefects to decide what the theme ought to be." Said Tom, jerking the front of his robes straight so that his Head boy badge flashed in the light. Beside Remus, Lily rolled her eyes. "Does anyone have any suggestions?" 

Everyone glanced around the room, waiting for someone else to put their hand up. 

"Anyone?" Tom repeated, raising his eyebrows. 

Very slowly, a Hufflepuff prefect in the corner raised their hand. 

"Pendergast." Nodded Tom. 

"Erm..." The Hufflepuff flushed awkwardly and adorned a sheepish smile. "Beauty and the Beast?...Or something..." She trailed off lamely as people began to snicker. She cast a nervous glance at the Slytherins; Bellatrix leant across and whispered in Lucius' ear, and they both smirked. 

"I think that's a great idea." Lily stated confidently over the sniggering, smiling at the Hufflepuff prefect. 

"It _does_ have alot of possibilities for costumes and decoration." Astrea agreed slowly from the sofa. Caspian nodded. 

Remus felt a sudden tightness in his throat; beauty and the beast. Perfect. Yes, that sounded _right_ up his street... 

"I agree with Lily." Everyone turned to look at him as he forced the words out of his mouth. "I think we should go for it." 

The murmurs of approval gradually accumulated throughout the room, and finally Tom nodded. 

"Alright, that's sorted then: Beauty and the Beast. Now, I'll need volunteers for working on the event..." 

"I'd be happy to work out some sort of dress-code." Camilla-Anne drawled nasally at his elbow. 

Lily glanced around and made eye-contact with Astrea. 

"We could...do the décor for the Hall." She suggested. Astrea smiled at her in assent. 

Caspian cleared his throat. 

"I'll talk to Flitwick about lighting." He said in his quiet voice. 

"Hold on," Interrupted Bellatrix, sitting forward suddenly. "That's not fair - it's all Ravenclaws and Gryffindors!" 

The other Slytherins nodded and muttered their agreement. 

"We should be allowed just as much input." Said Lucius coolly, lounging in his chair. 

"He's right, Colville." Said Camilla-Anne, directing her colleague a stony gaze. 

Remus felt eyes on him, and glanced up. Lucius was directing him a particularly nasty look across the room, his cold blue eyes narrow in his pale face. 

"Alright, alright," Tom waved an impatient hand for the room to be quiet. "Malfoy - Black - you team up with Evans and Ravenstone on the decorating of the hall." 

Lily and Astrea exchanged looks. 

"Fine." Astrea replied, in a voice that said exactly the opposite. 

As Lily settled back into her chair, Remus leaned across and patted her arm. 

"Good luck." He whispered. 

As they filed out of the prefect's common room, Lily edged up the stream of students and joined Astrea and Caspian near the fore of the throng. 

"Hey!" 

Astrea glanced back over her shoulder and stopped. 

"Hey!" 

"So do you have any ideas?" 

Astrea gestured for Caspian - who was giving her a questioning look - to go on, and then made a thoughtful face. 

"A few. Sort of..." She gestured. "Um...gothic? You know - Victorian? Late 18th Century, maybe?" 

"I was thinking along the same lines." Lily smiled. "We're going to have to pass that by Malfoy and Black, though." She added, looking as though the words left a bad flavour in her mouth. 

"And darling Camilla-Anne." Said Astrea with equal distaste. "She'll want to make sure that the costumes and the scenery match." 

Lily nodded, and then grinned. 

"I'm really looking forward to doing this with you;" Astrea beamed happily. "Do you want to meet up in the library later and discuss some ideas?" 

"That'd be great. After lunch?" 

Lily gave her a thumbs-up. 

"Excellent. After lunch, then..." 

-- 

Remus slung the dormitary door shut behind him, yanked his tie loose, and collapsed onto his bed. 

"Oh, was it _that_ bad?" Sirius asked. He was focusing intently on the game of Wizard's Chess he and James were playing on the floor. 

"Worse." Sighed Remus, massaging his face. "They've decided the theme for the Hallowe'en Ball." 

James looked up. 

"Really? What?" 

Remus groaned. 

"Beauty and the Beast." 

"Aw, you'll be able to _sail_ that one, Moony," Sirius grinned. "What are you worried about?" 

"Mmph. I don't know what I'm worried about." Remus levered himself up onto his elbows. "I suppose the thought of it just put me in a bad mood, that's all." 

"Come on, Moony - look on the bright side." Encouraged Peter, who was watching James smile contentedly as his knight picked up Sirius' bishop and whirled him round by his mitre. "You have even _more_ hope of getting Ravenstone to go with you, now." 

"Wait a minute; when did I say I was even going to _ask_ her?" 

James made a pained sound and Sirius rolled his eyes. 

"Just admit it, Remus - you're dying for an excuse to snog her passionately in some dark corner somewhere." 

Remus flushed a deep shade of plum. 

"_Excuse me!_" 

James shrugged with a negligent expression. 

"Whatever." 

Remus sighed again, and let his head fall back on the bed. 

"She's doing the decorations for the Hall with Lily." He said. 

There was a pause. 

"Evans?" James repeated in an odd voice. 

"Oh dear lord..." Muttered Sirius. 

After a moment's consideration, a light suddenly came into James' eyes, and a smile crept over his features. 

"Gentlemen, prepare yourselves," He proclaimed in an oratorial voice. "For I, the masterful James Potter, have a _plan_..." 

Remus lifted his head off the covers to look at Peter. 

"I didn't gain much by coming back here, did I?" 

-- 

"Colville paired you up with Malfoy and Black?" 

Tryn gave Astrea a look that lingered half-way between pity and disgust. They were sat at the Gryffindor table (Astrea had never yet been picked up for it) discussing the day so far over lunch. Astrea reached across to take another sandwich. 

"I know. How'd they ever make the mistake of making a _Gryffindor_ Head boy?" 

"Hey!" Tryn brandished a fork. "If you're gonna sit here, try giving a little respect, would you please?" 

Astrea smiled. 

"I'm meeting with Lily Evans in the library after lunch to throw some ideas around. Any thoughts?" 

"Gothic?" 

"Ok." 

Tryn paused for a moment to swallow her mouthful of sausage. 

"Is this ball open to _all_ years?" 

Astrea frowned. 

"They haven't really said either way. I don't see why not, though." 

"You planning on asking someone?" 

Tryn received a sidelong glance. 

"Why?" 

McTaggart smirked. 

"Leave me alone." 

"As you wish." 

Then Tryn sighed, and tugged at a purple forelock with her fingers. 

"It still won't come out." She muttered. 

Tryn's unusual hair-colour had been acquired the year before, when she had originally been a 'boring' brunette and thus tried to streak her hair during the summer holidays. The spell had backfired however, and quite by accident, she had managed to create one of the most interesting heads of hair in the whole school. 

"And you've tried everything?" Astrea asked. 

"Everything, A." Sighed Tryn. "Short of going bald, and I'm not in too much of a hurry to do _that_." 

"Hey!" Astrea got to her feet suddenly, and pointed fiercely down the table at someone. "You first-years! Yes, I'm talking to you! Don't do that with your food!" 

There was a sound of impish giggling as she sat down again with a barely concealed grin on her face. 

"God, I'm sorry - I love this position." She laughed. 

Tryn raised an eyebrow, smiling. 

"I can tell." 

Astrea sighed. The she reached into her robes, drew out a large, silver pocket watch and flicked up the lid. Tryn swallowed a particularly large mouthful of mashed potato with a frown. 

"They still make you carry that thing around?" She asked incredulously. 

"We purebloods are old fashioned." Murmured Astrea in a distant voice. Then she snapped the lid shut again. "I'd better get up to the library. I'll see you in History." 

"Yep." Smiled Tryn. "See you, A." 

-- 

**_Now_**

There was a knock on the door. Lupin - kneeling on the floor infront of a large dresser - carefully ducked his head out of the dark cupboard, and looked back over his shoulder. 

"Come in!" 

Mrs Weasley entered bearing a plate of biscuits and a flask of tea. 

"There you are, Remus." She set them down beside him with a warm smile. "I thought you might be wanting to spend a bit more time up here, so I made you a whole potful." 

Remus sighed happily. 

"You truly are a wonderful woman, Molly. Thank you." 

"How are you getting on?" Asked Mrs Weasley, peering into the dark space of the dresser. 

Remus had been up in the library on the third floor for most of the day, attempting to evict a scriptborer - a type of giant woodworm inexplicably drawn to places full of books. The intention had been to salvage the antique dresser once the scriptborer was banished; but the thing was so riddled through with tunnels the breadth of a side-plate that this notion was beginning to look somewhat bleak. 

Lupin shook his head. 

"No luck as of yet, I'm afraid." He frowned thoughtfully at the piece of furniture. "Quite extraordinary how something that size can hide itself so effectively..." 

"Mind you, if we don't get to it soon, it'll be moving onto the rest of the books." Said Mrs Weasley, looking pointedly at the pile of volumes atop the dresser - it had a neat hole passing right through its centre. 

Lupin nodded. 

"Rest assured I'm doing my very best, Molly. If all else fails, we can always resort to taking the dresser to pieces; though it _would_ mean losing it..." He added apologetically. 

"I have complete faith in you, Remus." Smiled Mrs Weasley, patting his shoulder. "I'd better get back downstairs - Mundungus should be arriving any minute." 

Just at that moment, there was a loud snap and a shriek from downstairs. Mrs Weasley sighed exasperatedly and wiped her hands on her apron. 

"That'll be him. I'll be down in the kitchen if you need me, dear." 

Remus nodded and watched her leave the room over his shoulder. Then he pulled out his wand, re-rolled his sleeves and confronted the dresser with a determined frown. 

"One of us will have given up by the end of today," He muttered. "And it won't be me..." 

A nearby mirror gave a hearty, wheezing laugh. 

"You tell him, old boy, what?" 

-- 

It was much, much later that there came a second knock on the door. Lupin straightened up to call an answer, but promptly cracked his head on the top of the cupboard, and dropped his wand with a cuss. The dresser gave out an ominious groan. 

"Come in!" He managed finally, gingerly rubbing his head and retreating from the cupboard. 

The door opened and Astrea looked in. 

"Ah," She smiled. "I heard a clunk and an ow, and I thought: 'Remus Lupin must be in this room'." 

"I resent that," Said Lupin, though he too was smiling. "I've never been _that_ clumsy." 

"No, but I felt like teasing you and the opportunity was there." 

She gently closed the door, and crossed the room to join him. 

"How's it going?" She asked, hunkering down. 

Lupin ran a hand through his greying hair. 

"It's reached siege level. I was just contemplating catapults when you came in." 

Astrea shook her head. 

"You wouldn't think it would be possible for such a hulking great maggot to hide in a piece of driftwood like that." 

Remus chuckled. 

"Oh believe me, after the day I've had, I would." 

There was a lull, and Astrea seated herself on the floor and smoothed out her robes - they were a deep purple velvet, dusted with silver pentacles. Her hair was loose and fell over her face as she reached for a far crease, and Remus smiled slightly as he remembered how she'd looked when she had fallen asleep last night after their long hours of talking. Astrea felt his gaze and looked up at him with a smile; Lupin blushed and quickly averted his eyes. __

_'Get a hold on yourself, Lupin!' _

The honey-haired witch lowered her eyes again for a moment, and then cleared her throat, attempting to clear the awkward atmosphere. 

"Remus?" 

"Yes?" 

Astrea paused for a moment. Then in a low voice she asked: 

"What's Voldemort doing?" 

There was a tense silence. Lupin drew in a deep breath and sighed heavily down his nose. 

"Does 'Time's Library' mean anything to you, Rea?" He asked. 

Astrea cocked her head to one side and frowned. 

"It comes from mythology, doesn't it?" 

Lupin nodded. 

"It's a place - dubbed a library, for reference's sake - where the records of the lives of everyone who has ever lived are supposed to be stored." 

"Yes, I remember hearing about that once," Astrea agreed. "The books of the living are constantly being written as lives are lived, and the books of the dead are finished. Aren't the books of the living also supposed to have an infinite number of pages?" 

"Yes." 

Astrea narrowed her eyes slightly. 

"What connection does this have with Voldemort?" 

"Last year, he went to the Department of Mysteries to try and retrieve a certain prophecy." Remus paused. "You know the one I'm talking about." 

Astrea nodded. 

"Of course." 

"Well, he was thwarted, as you know, and retreated none-the-wiser. But then, from somewhere, he found out about Time's Library..." Lupin's brow creased thoughfully. "My guess is that he aims to find out what he wants to know by searching the library, and finding the books that will provide him with the information." 

"But surely, if his ultimate objective is to-" Astrea's voice lowered even further. "Is to kill Harry, then...well, logic says that by directly destroying Harry's book, he should be able to achieve that." 

Remus looked at her sharply. 

"Also a possibility - one that had crossed my mind." He said. "However, I would think it would take an enormous amount of power to destroy one of the books, because of the matter they are made from." 

"Continuum-matter." Astrea's face took on a strained expression and she massaged her temples. "None of this is clear. None of it." 

Lupin laid a hand on her arm. 

"I wouldn't think about it too much," He advised gently. "Not now, at any rate. We have members of the Order monitoring Voldemort's activities; we'll know what's going on if any moves are made." 

Astrea stared contemplatively at the carpet. 

"I should talk to my uncle, Scabius. He's a master of mythology; he could probably tell us something useful." 

"You have means of contacting him?" Asked Remus. 

Astrea shook her head slowly. 

"I meant his portrait; it's back in the family gallery at the Abbey." 

"We have time to go there this week. By the way, Tonks, Moody and I will be going to collect Harry soon." 

"When?" 

"In the next few days or so. You can come along if you like." Lupin's eyes twinkled. "I expect you'll be wanting to meet him again after so long." 

Astrea's face broke into a bright smile, and she opened her mouth to say something. But she cut off as something on the edge of her vision caught her eye, and she suddenly threw a pointing finger at the dresser. 

"There it is!" She cried. 

Remus looked round quickly. The featureless, ribbed white head of the scriptborer was protruding from one of the tunnels, flexing the tip of its face inquisitively. Seizing his wand, Lupin muttered a quick incantation under his breath, and brought his wand sharply back over his shoulder in an arched motion, as though he were reeling in a fish. Instantly, the scriptborer was jerked from its hole by its nose, and came writhing out like a huge white snake onto the carpet. 

"Wartcap powder, quickly!" Cried Lupin. 

Astrea grabbed the bowl on the floor next to her, and recklessly plunging her hand straight into the stuff, cast a large handful over the length of the worm. There was an unpleasant noise like fat sizzling in a frying pan, and the scriptborer shrivelled like a deflating balloon, until all that remained in its place was a limp, wrinkled white membrane about two thirds smaller than the original size. 

Remus turned back to where Astrea was nursing her now brown-encrusted hand. He took hold of her wrist, and tapped his wand lightly on the scabbing, which quickly vanished to normal skin. Astrea gave him a greatful look as she took her hand back, massaging it with the fingertips of the other. Remus surveyed the shrivelled scriptborer with a disgusted face. 

"Well, now that's over with," They both cast a glance back at the tunnel-riddled dresser. "What do you say to a butterbeer?" 

Astrea smiled warmly. 

"That would be lovely, Remus." She said. 

-- 


	5. Reunions

Author's notes: _Lindsay Lohan in 'Mean Girls' is my Lily Evans, people!!!_ Alright, alright: absence of the famous green eyes, but the red-hair and everything else...I've got to ask - am I the only one who does that? Goes through actresses and actors in different parts in films and says "Yeah, I can really see them as so-and-so..."? -cricket chirp- Aw, nuts to you lot! ;) Well, I was completely bowled off my chair when I checked my email the other day, and found no less than _six_ review alerts waiting for me! _Six!_ For _one_ chapter! You guys are too kind to me :) So, the thank-yous commence: 

harrypotter2202: That soon enough for you, m'luv? :) It's great to gain another new reader; I promise I will try and update as often as possible. I've almost finished my GCSE exams now (only two more to go! Squeeee!) and then I'm going to have just over a month of totally free time before I have to start doing things again, so hopefully that'll mean many, many more chapters! Thanks for your review! 

A-is-for-Amy: Aha, time for a really long thank-you :) Firstly, it's great to hear from you again, and I'm glad you're still enjoying the story - you're putting me on author's alert? Aw, shucks! I only do that with about...well - you check out my favourites lists, and then ponder the fact that I only have two on author's alert. I'm stingy like that! ;) Astrea's not slipping into Mary-Sueishness? Thank heavens for that! Yes, OCs can be just as difficult as the canons - sometimes even more so. Alot of the moulding of Astrea's character comes from me sitting there and thinking 'now, if _I_ was in this situation, what would _I_ do?', so there's actually alot of me in her! -nods- Yes, I'm enjoying poor Remus' suffering, too. Not literally speaking though, of course ;) Of all the Marauders, I personally find that Moony's the most fun to see engaged in romantic plotlines: that could be because I enjoy the sweetness and gentlemanliness (truly _not_ a real word) of his character, or it could just be because I take vindictive pleasure from seeing him squirm in all those awkward situations! Oh, didn't we _all_ hate Kreacher? Especially after what he did to poor Sirius! Grrrr...For some reason, the black-humour side of that event came out to play when I wrote it, and I just left it that way - it never hurts to slip some entertainment-value in there for good measure, whatever the circumstances! Yes, the scriptborer was my own invention; I'm pleased you liked it :) Ah, the length of time I spent pouring over my thesaurus and my dictionary trying to come up with a name for it! Well, thanks for your kudos, m'hunni, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations - may your dressers never be eaten by scriptborers ;) 

i lluv orli bloom: First of all, dig your penname -grin- Great to have a second new reader, and I hope you continue to enjoy it. Thank you for your review :) 

AAandACFOREVER: Well, your prayers have been answered, m'luv - Astrea meets Harry in this chapter! -cheers- I'll make a deal with you: I keep posting, you keep reading and reviewing, k? ;) 

TigerLily713: Oh, bless you! Well, thanks to you and the above, I have _10_ reviews now :) I'm flattered you deem this phenomenal, and even better that you think the characters and the writing are well-done! Again, thank you so much for your review; it's great to have another new reader, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. 

P.C.U: Oh, Lupin/OC fics are so frustratingly hard to find, aren't they? Most of the Lupin romance stories are time-turner or slash-orientated. That's a huge compliment that this one held your attention, though, and I'm glad you found what you were looking for. Yeah, flashbacks are always obvious, and I think they always will be if they're a part of this sort of plotline, but as long as you think they're working :) It's important to me that I get as much of the Marauders in there as I do scenes that will develop my fic, because everyone loves MWPP, and who would want to even _consider_ a Marauder-era fic without being able to enjoy starring performances from the masters themselves? Well, having said that, no flashbacks in this chapter, but rest assured there will be in the next one! No exception to the rule - I really hope you continue to enjoy reading this, and that I will be hearing from you again in the future :) 

Disclaimer: The Marauders and everything Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just holding them to ransom in my cellar. 

Spoilers: PoA and OotP 

Pairings: Test your grasp of subtlety and see if you can figure it out...;) 

-- 

**_Now_**

"Where on earth...?" 

Remus stood watching as Astrea rooted through the pocket of her robe. They were standing in the spacious porch of Taigan Abbey, confronted by a large, gnarled oak door with a silver knocker shaped like an open raven's wing. On either side of the threshold stood two hulking and very impressive monolith supports, engraved all over with odd, celtic-looking spirals and circles that seemed to change imperceivably even as Remus watched them. After staring at them for a good minute or so, he blinked hard with a shake of his head and looked elsewhere. 

The Abbey itself was built of rough-hewn timbre and raw mountain stone, squat and sprawling in a wide clearing of coarse grass. All about it grew a thick pine forest, which climbed far up into the surrounding mountains and bristled along the high ridges like hair on a cat's back. The windows were low to the ground and latticed with tiny diamond-shaped panes. The roof was slate-tiled, though mostly over-grown with moss and lichen now, and sloped steeply up to a long, uneven spine, decorated with gargoyles and strange-looking stone birds at the apexes. 

Remus walked to one side of the porch, and leaned out over the barrier to squint up at the bell tower. The infamous belfry reared top-heavy and rickety towards the pale grey sky. Atop its crooked spire sat a huge raven, lazily surveying the view and preening its glinting feathers. Remus noticed how the top-half of the tower's stone girth was riddled with over-sized pigeon holes; every so often, large black shapes would emerge from them and take the air, or simply appear out of the sky and return in a flurry of black wings and raucous cries. 

Lupin withdrew his head back beneath the porch roof, and turned just in time to see Astrea produce a key from her pocket with a triumphant 'ha!'. In correspondence with the door knocker, the key had an ornate bird motif and was fashioned from silver. Despite himself, Lupin felt a momentary pang of nervousness at being in such close proximity to the metal. 

Astrea stooped and inserted the tiny key into a keyhole that was far too big for it. Lupin frowned. 

"But..." 

He trailed off as the key suddenly grew to fit the lock, expanding until the shank was as long as Astrea's index finger and its decorated head nearly filled her palm. It turned in the lock with a clunk and as the door creaked open ajar, Astrea looked up at Remus with a wry smile. 

"There are lots of things about this house you'll find strange," She said. "The modifications my family made to it over the years...Rarely am I so disturbed as when I'm in my own home." 

And with that, they crossed the threshold into the warm, earthy-smelling interior of the Abbey. Almost at once, there was the sound of pattering feet coming down the passage, and shortly a small, slender house-elf with huge ears and a long, pointed nose appeared infront of them with a deep bow. It wore midnight-blue velvet tailcoat with a silver brocade collar, a white jabot, and neat black breeches hemmed just below the knee. When it straightened up again, it beamed broadly and said in a high voice: 

"Welcome home, Mistress A! Sprocket hoped you would be returning soon. Sprocket always keeps the kettle ready just incase." 

"Thank you, Sprocket." Smiled Astrea, handing the house-elf her cloak as he held his hands out for it. Then he turned to Remus, who did the same. 

"Will Mistress A and Sir be wanting tea?" Sprocket asked expectantly. 

"Yes, thank you." Astrea nodded. 

As the house-elf pattered back off down the hallway, the toffee-haired witch walked along a little way behind him, and then turned into another passage, long, narrow and low, so that Remus had to stoop when he followed her. Light from the opening ahead of them glanced off the cold flagstones that paved the floor and lined the walls, and once or twice Lupin felt his robes snag on the rough-hewn timbers that supported the tunnel. 

When they emerged from the other end, they were in a large room with yet another low ceiling; but the floor was sunken, so that if someone walked down the steps from the passage and stood at ground-level, the room would actually be quite high. The far right-hand wall had a grand hearth set into it; all the others were lined with beautifully embroidered hangings and shelves of books; yellowing, dog-eared scrolls dripping with heavy seals; a number of hour glasses ranging in size; pots crammed full of different types of quill, from pheasant feathers to broad, inky black raven feathers; and a variety of other oddments. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and candles burned in little alcoves in the stone walls. Astrea inspected her surroundings, and nodded approvingly. 

"Sprocket's done a good job - I really do wish I could pay him sometimes." She turned to Remus. "This is the Tapestry Room. The bell tower and family gallery are through there," She indicated to the stone archway of a spiral staircase that curled away into the far wall. "I think we'll have time to see Scabius before the tea's ready." 

After they had climbed the spiral stairwell, the short length of passage they met next to the gallery door proved to be even more cramped than the passage they had gone through to reach the Tapestry Room. 

"Either my ancestors were very short or they had no dignity." Astrea muttered, forced into an ungainly hunch as they approached the entrance. 

Looking ahead over Astrea's shoulder, Remus saw a curved panel of stone built into the masonry above the door. Carved in deep, archaic lettering that was smattered with moss were the words 'Sagesse Ancienne'. 

"Ancient Wisdom?" Translated Lupin in a quiet voice. 

"Family motto." Astrea replied. Then she shuffled around slightly so that she was able to look him in the face. "Remus...before we go in...look, I just wanted to warn you that...you know, my family _are_ purebloods, and..." She shifted uncomfortably. "Well, if any of them say anything - which, to be honest, they _might_ - really, Remus, the last thing I want is for you to be offended. You don't have to come in if you don't want to." 

Remus raised an eyebrow and smiled. 

"Rea, you just made me virtually crawl on my hands and knees through two tunnels, and climb all the way up a tower that has more stairs in it than all the staircases at Hogwarts put together. I did not go through all that just to be denied the pleasure of meeting your lovely and, I'm sure, quite-charming relatives." 

Astrea smiled sheepishly. 

"I have a horrid feeling you may eat those words later, but..." 

Turning back, she twisted the handle of the door, and let it swing open on its hinges. 

The reaction, when they stepped down into the circular chamber, was instantaneous: voices burst at them from every direction in the dimness, and the blast of sound was so sudden that Remus and Astrea both started violently. Quickly leaving Lupin's side, Astrea strode out into the centre of the floor, so that she became only a dark shape to Remus' eyes, and turning her face upwards, she gave out ringing shout that rose over the other voices like a bell. 

"_QUIET!_" 

The voices immediately died to a babble, and with a softly sung note that glimmered delicately in the air, a light blossomed in the place where Astrea stood. Remus looked up: the round wall of the bell-tower was absolutely crammed full of portraits, both individual and group. The occupants of the paintings all peered down at them from above, their rich robes of dark velvets highlighted by the rays of Astrea's spell. 

"Ah, welcome home Astrea." Said one of the paintings at last. The speaker was a tall silver-haired wizard with a flowing, beautifully curled beard in robes of deep blue, standing beside a seated, elegant-looking witch of the same age as him. 

"Yes, welcome home, dear." Nodded the witch. 

Murmurings of agreement descended from around the room. Looking up at all the eyes inspecting him, Remus suddenly felt terribly small. 

"And who is this?" Asked an imperious and beautiful woman with long, black hair and a raven perched on her shoulder. Her eyes - a pale blue-mauve like Astrea's - inspected Remus with a king of condescending curiosity. 

"This is Remus Lupin." Astrea replied firmly, her mouth set as she glanced over the faces of her ancestors. Remus inclined his head respectfully to the black-haired woman. The tower became filled with hushed voices and mutterings. 

"The werewolf." Assessed a dark-featured young man, raising his eyebrows. "Is it wise of you to be keeping such company, I wonder?" 

"Orion, you sound like Lucius Malfoy." Astrea said coldly. 

The young man glared at her. 

"And...muggle-born." Added another portrait somewhat stiffly, still looking down his nose at Lupin. 

"He is a member of the Order." Astrea enforced sternly. "And a loyal supporter of Albus Dumbledore. I'll not have you speak ill of him, Fleance." 

Remus flushed slightly at the steely note in her voice. Fleance grasped the lapels of his lustrous robes with a look of disapproval. Astrea fixed the wizard with distasteful gaze, and then began to turn a full circle, so that she could look at each of her ancestors in turn. 

"Now that we've got our little prejudice tangent out of the way," She said in a loud voice, extracting dark mutterings from a few of the occupants. "Where's Scabius?" 

"Away." Said the beautiful woman with the raven. "He left two days ago. Was it anything of importance?" 

"Some questions I wanted to ask him." Said Astrea. "Do you know when he'll be back, Marelda?" 

Marelda looked away for a moment, and ran a white hand through her long, rippling black locks. 

"Duessa!" She called finally. 

Astrea and Remus turned to see a fair-haired witch walk into a portrait on the opposite wall. 

"Did your husband happen to tell you when he'd be back?" Marelda asked. 

Duessa shook her head. 

"I'm sorry, my dear, he didn't." She spoke directly to Astrea. 

The toffee-haired woman sighed and frowned thoughfully. 

"What about Caspian?" She asked then, looking up. 

All eyes went to a huge, silver-framed painting over the door. It was empty. 

"Your brother's been gone for months." Marelda said, not a little guiltily. "We haven't heard or seen anything of him." 

"Did he tell you where he was going?" 

Two portraits down and one to the left of Marelda's, Orion shrugged. 

"You know Caspian. He hardly speaks at all." 

Remus looked at Astrea - her features bore an anxious expression. Finally, she nodded. 

"Alright, well...if all of you could keep an eye out for them both and send me word if you hear or see anything, I'd be grateful." 

"We could pass you word to Grimmauld Place through Phineas Nigellus, if you like." Said Fleance. 

"No," Lupin stepped forward, and a sudden hush fell over the portraits. This was the first time he had spoken. "No, I don't think that would be a wise idea. Perhaps you could go straight to Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, and send the message through him, instead." 

"None of us has a portrait in that office, _werewolf_." Orion said with a nasty sneer in his tone. 

"That's not true." 

A young-looking witch with long, honey-blonde hair and lovely grey eyes had suddenly appeared in the empty portrait over the door. Her skin was pale and flawless, and she wore beautiful robes of silver, embellished with beading and heavy brocade. She couldn't have been older than mid to late thirties, and Remus felt his breath catch slightly in his chest as he looked into her face: she was the spitting image of her daughter, Astrea. 

"Mother," Astrea smiled up at the portrait. 

"The occasional, less-than-accurate proclamation from your great uncle." Phaedria cast Orion an arch look. The dark young man flushed. "Don't worry - if we hear anything, I'll send your father to pass it on to Dumbledore. He'll get word to you quickly." 

"Thank you." Said Astrea. 

Phaedria looked fondly at her daughter and then turned her gaze to Lupin. 

"You've grown up, young man." She observed with a wry smile. 

Remus laughed. 

"Hardly young anymore, I'm afraid, Mrs Ravenstone." 

Phaedria's lovely face suddenly became grim. 

"I was sorry to hear news of Sirius Black's death." She said solemnly. "My condolences." 

"Thank you." Lupin nodded. 

From somewhere in the Abbey, there came the faint, distant chiming of a clock, and above them there was a sudden flurry of wings and hoarse croaks, and a few feathers floated to the flagstone floor like long, black snowflakes. 

"Astrea?" Lupin gently touched the woman's arm. "Come on - we have to be getting back soon." 

Astrea nodded, and cast a final glance at the portrait where her mother stood. 

"I hope they're alright." She murmured. 

-- 

"Snobby bunch, aren't they?" 

They were back down in the Tapestry Room, helping Sprocket to clear the last of the tea-things. Remus gave Astrea a small smile. 

"I've met worse." He said. 

Astrea straightened up and looked around. 

"We used to have a family tree, like the one in Grimmauld Place, you know. But I put it away somewhere one time while I was in hiding here, and I'm afraid to say that I lost it." 

She glanced at the shelf-lined walls with a half-hopeful, half-sheepish expression. 

"All my ancestors were Ravenclaws.Well," She interrupted herself thoughtfully. "Unless you count Orion, I suppose. He was a Ravenclaw too, and so was his mother, Marelda - you met them both back there; Marelda's my great grandmother's sister - but she married Cirrus Lestrange. Orion was really the first Ravenstone to carry Slytherin blood; also the first of the Lestrange branch of our family, so I don't directly count him as one of my relatives."  
Lupin stayed quiet: he didn't want to tread on what might well be a delicate subject. Astrea frowned up at the ceiling. 

"So if Marelda was the first Ravenstone to marry into the Lestrange line...that would make Orion...Rodolphus'...great uncle. Like he is to me. Thank god we're only related by marriage..." She concluded with a dark shudder. 

Lupin cleared his throat. 

"I notice that all your family have dark hair." He said, shifting the course of the discussion a little. "Apart from you, Caspian and your mother." 

Astrea smiled.  
"It's my father, Belarius, who's the Ravenstone stock in the marriage." She explained. "He's got the characteristic eye colour and dark hair. My mother, on the other hand, was from a French-rooted pureblood family whose name was 'De-lys'." 

"'De-lys' as in 'fleur-de-lys'?" Asked Lupin. 

"Yes. So my mother had the De-lys fair hair and the grey eyes, but my father has the Ravenstone dark hair and the mauve eyes." "Ah, I see." Remus nodded. 

Astrea looked at him, and smiled somewhat disbelievingly. 

"I can't believe you weren't bored for even a second there." She said incredulously. 

"On the contrary, your family history is positively fascinating." Lupin smiled back. 

Astrea raised an eyebrow. 

"Are you playing with me?" 

Lupin kept his expression mild. 

"Maybe." 

"On your head be it," Shrugged Astrea, crossing the room to a sort of minature wardrobe that stood by the opposite wall. "It was you who steered me onto the subject in the first place." 

"Very observant of you, Rea." 

Astrea bent to open one of the little doors. Inside the wardrobe was a rack of perfectly proportioned, scaled-down robes, mostly of the same quality and style as the ones which the occupants of the family gallery had been wearing. The honey-haired witch reached in and slipped one of them off its hanger, and as she lifted it out of the wardrobe, it suddenly expanded to full size, just as the front door key had done for the lock. The robe was a magnificent patchwork of different cloths and shades of blue and purple: a square of dark violet satin here set off a square of ultramarine brocade there, and the tiny silver stars embroidered into that piece of cornflower dupioni silk flashed like the curling treble clefs in the mallard-blue velvet above it. The back and front trailed long, plaited ties of silver-threaded ribbons, and the burnished celtic-knot clasps clinked as Astrea hefted it into her arms. From the slightly strained expression on her face, Lupin gathered the garment was rather heavy. 

Astrea flushed awkwardly as she felt his eyes on her, and quickly knocked the wardrobe door shut again. She seemed embarrassed at the amount of finery hung inside. 

"Spellsinger robe. One of the other things I wanted to come back for." She kept her eyes averted, her cheeks still glowing. "I had to pack quickly..." 

"Rea," Lupin smiled sympathetically. "You don't have to get embarrassed everytime your family's circumstances come up. I don't get work very often; it shows." He plucked at his patched robes and shrugged. "That's not your fault." 

"I don't like the topic of pureblood wealth." Said Astrea, a little fiercely. "It's wrong." 

"Alright," Soothed Lupin. "Alright - we don't have to talk about it." 

Astrea seemed to relax a little, and cast him an apologetic glance. 

"I'm sorry." She sighed, examining the robe. "I don't know why it gets me so irritated...It's because of families like the Malfoys; people judge quickly. I don't want them to get the wrong idea." 

"I know exactly how you feel." Said Lupin quietly. 

Astrea's eyes were comprehending in the ensuing silence. 

"We'd better get back to Grimmauld Place." She said eventually. "The others will be wondering where we've got to." 

-- 

On their way out, there was an emotional fairwell from Sprocket who waylaid them to return their cloaks. He watched his mistress prepare to leave again with a sort of obedient sadness that was almost heartbreaking, and as Lupin turned for the door, a sudden thought occurred to him. Turning back again, he surveyed the elf thoughtfully, and then looked at his old schoolmate. 

"Astrea?" 

"Yes?" 

The woman paused with her hand on the doorhandle. Lupin tried to stop himself shuddering as he noticed that this too was fashioned from burnished silver. 

"Might I ask how you would feel about Sprocket coming to work at Grimmauld Place?" 

Astrea did a double-take. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Well, now that Kreacher has reached his..." Remus cleared his throat. "Unfortunate demise, the house is bereft of a house-elf. Kreacher never really did any work to begin with, but I think Molly struggles with the maintenance." 

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her. Astrea regarded the startled-looking Sprocket over her shoulder. 

"That's not such a bad idea." She said. 

"But who will look after the Abbey if Sprocket goes with Mistress A and Sir?" Queried the elf in his high voice. 

Remus frowned. 

"Ah - I hadn't thought of that. You don't have to agree if it's inconvenient." 

Astrea shook her head slowly. 

"No, no - I think we'll be alright." She made deliberate eye-contact with Sprocket. "The house is a small matter." 

Lupin didn't know exactly what was being said, but something about the way Astrea emphasised her last few words told him that this last statement had been significant. Sprocket's eyes widened in realisation. 

"Of course, Mistress A." He nodded, his huge, violet-coloured gaze never leaving hers. 

Astrea winked at him, and then gave Lupin a secretive smile. 

"You're coming with us, Sprocket." She turned the silver handle and pushed the front door open as she gave the order. Sprocket executed a deep bow, and then scurried after her into the fresh air, leaving Lupin to follow nonplussed. 

They left the porch and walked a way out into the clearing, so that when they faced the Abbey, the whole structure fitted within their field of vision. Then, a little uncertainly, Astrea took two steps forward and making a curious gesture in the air with her fingers, sang in a high, imperious voice: 

"_Abbatia deportus!_" 

Nothing seemed to happen. Then, ever so gradually - slow at first, but gaining speed - the Abbey itself began to shrink before their very eyes. It quite literally sank and compressed, as though they were moving away from it at great speed and seeing it from an ever-increasing distance. Lupin stared at the spectacle infront of them with a kind of shocked fascination; even Astrea herself looked more than a little disquieted. 

After about a minute, when the house seemed to have reached its final size, the honey-haired woman walked towards it, her expression slightly faint, and stooped. The entire thing was now small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Very carefully, she picked it up, and slipped it into the pocket of her robe. Then she turned back to Lupin and Sprocket, and shook her head weakly. 

"My family are disturbing." 

-- 

Privet Drive was quiet in the dusk of late evening, and the air was chill and earthy with the smell of recent rain. Harry sat by his open window, the burning sensation of expectation growing in his diaphragm with every passing second. He glanced over Hedwig in her cage, his Firebolt and his packed trunk for the hundredth time, and then re-read the letter he was clutching tightly in his hands: 

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this finds you in good health, and that our presents reached you in time for your birthday,_

Harry thought happily of the assortment of gifts from Lupin (a magical almanac), the Weasleys (a snitch collectively, the usual large box of Berty Bott's Every Flavour Beans from Ron, and a wide array of products from the twins' joke shop), Hermione (a very expensive-looking and high-quality quill set) and the others all stowed away in his luggage. 

_I also hope that the Dursleys have been treating you well. Since you haven't mentioned anything, I assume they are._

_We will be coming to collect you on my opposite night. Have your things packed and be ready to leave soon after we arrive._

_Until then, look after yourself, and I look forward to seeing you again soon._

_Moony_

When he had first received it, it had taken Harry a little while to understand the disguised messages within the letter. Lupin always signed his letters with his old nickname incase they were intercepted - that had needed no figuring-out to fathom. The bit about 'my opposite night', however, had been a slightly different matter. It had eventually been resolved when Harry had checked his lunar chart as a last, desperate resort for any sort of clue, and found that the new moon of that month fell on the Saturday of the week the letter had arrived. So there he was: half-past ten on Saturday night, trunk packed, sitting by his window, ready to escape the Dursleys for another school year. 

The letters he had had from his friends over the summer holidays had been a little fewer than he would have liked, but there had still been more than there were last year, and Ron's and Hermione's and Lupin's had all been full of concern and questions about how he was doing, and promises that they would be getting him away from the Dursleys as soon as was magically or humanly possible. 

And yet, for all the support they had given him, nothing seemed to be able to fill the awful, aching emptiness that had stayed with him all summer. The emptiness in his life that Sirius had once filled: no letters; no wondering where his godfather was and whether he was ok; no fatherly advice when he felt uneasy - Lupin was no less caring, but it simply wasn't the same - and no daydreams that perhaps, just maybe, at the end of this year, he might be escaping the Dursleys once and for all, and going to live with Sirius. So many times he had lain awake just thinking about it - Sirius' seemingly eternal backwards arc through the tattered, black veil playing over and over in his head, refusing to be shut out - and suddenly found himself weeping bitterly up at the ceiling. Sometimes, he even whispered his godfather's name out loud, in the ridiculous hope that it might summon him back to comfort Harry, and then everything would be alright again. More than once, he thought about how he had smashed the two-way mirror Sirius had given him when it had failed to work, and a searing regretfulness had swollen in his throat. So many things; so _many_ things; all the little things; all the stupid, silly, beautiful little things that Sirius had added to his life were suddenly wrenched from his grasp, and held out of his reach forever. As many times as Harry had wished aloud for Sirius to come back, he had sworn furiously that Bellatrix Lestrange was going to die, and that he would be the one who saw to it. 

Harry turned back to the window, wiping his face dry on his sleeve. The crisp, rain-smelling breeze cooled his skin, and the pavements and road glistened, pitted with glassy puddles; Privet Drive was still empty. 

Harry looked down at the letter again, his previous excitement gradually beginning to deflate. What if Lupin hadn't meant tonight at all? What if he, Harry, had got it wrong, and they were going to collect him some other evening? The sinking sensation in his chest had gathered speed now, sliding down towards his stomach. Wouldn't it _just_ be his luck if that were the case. 

Harry moved away from the window and threw himself down on his bed, letting Lupin's letter be plucked from his grasp by the air, and drift slowly to the floor. From her cage atop his trunk, Hedwig gave out a doleful hoot. 

"Sorry, girl." Harry said quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "Looks like we're going to be stuck here for a while longer." 

-- 

The quartet of witches and wizards stood looking up at the glowing upstairs window of No. 4 from the dewy front lawn. 

"He's spent...the whole of sixteen years...living _here_?" Astrea was staring at the house with a very ruffled expression. "What was Dumbledore trying to do? Drain all the magic out of him?" 

"No, but that was his Aunt and Uncle's general idea." Growled Moody. 

"Poor chap." Said Tonks, her spiky, bubblegum-pink hair glowing in the streetlamps. 

Lupin checked his watch. 

"Come on, we'd better go and get him. He'll have started to think we're not coming at all." 

They swept across the lawn, the hems of their cloaks stained dark by the wet grass, and crowded into the front porch. Moody's magical eye whizzed and spun in all directions as he reached up with one gnarled old hand and rapped the brass knocker on the door. 

"Do Harry's family know we're coming to collect him?" Astrea asked Remus in a low, curious tone. 

Lupin looked at her. 

"Yes." 

"But their reactions are bound to be entertaining all the same." Said Tonks, her dark eyes twinkling. 

There was a long pause and a silence, and then someone very cautiously, very tentatively, came to answer the door. It moved open ajar, and a large, beady-eyed, purple face peered through the gap at them. 

"Evening, Dursley." Moody snarled in an ominous voice. 

The man's eyes widened, and he licked his lips nervously. 

"They're here, Petunia." He called out. Astrea almost had to admire the amount of effort he was putting into attempting to keep his voice down the octave. 

The door opened to its full extent somewhat jerkily, and the four passed over the threshold. As they trooped through the narrow entrance hall, Vernon Dursley eyed the fresh scars on Lupin's mild face with some degree of horror. Lupin noticed him looking, and merely flashed him a pleasant smile. 

They moved slowly through into what proved to be an ajoined sitting room and kitchen, where a thin, horse-faced woman was clutching a massively-built, blonde-haired boy protectively to her chest like a giant baby, as far away from the witches and wizards as they could get. As Astrea glanced at them, she saw their terrified gazes slide from Tonk's neon-pink hair to her startling mauve eyes. For no other reason than she had taken an instant dislike to these people, and wanted to further their suffering in any way possible, Astrea granted them a beautiful smile, and winked. So much blood drained from the dark-haired woman's face that it appeared quite likely she was going to faint. 

"Rea, that's not nice." 

Lupin's twitching mouth contradicted the reproachfulness of his tone. 

"And while they don't deserve it right now, they're owed sixteen years of not-niceness from me." Astrea muttered darkly. 

Lupin smiled. 

"Whatever you say, dear." 

"Thank you, darling." 

-- 

"Boy!" 

Harry lifted his head off the covers at the bidding of sudden curiosity: Uncle Vernon's voice sounded more than a little shaken as it came up the stairs. And he was sure he'd heard the sound of the front door opening... 

"_Boy!_" 

"What?" Harry demanded, trying to keep the rising hope out of his voice. 

His bedroom door opened. Uncle Vernon stood out on the landing, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, and his usually-purple face several shades paler than normal. 

"Some of..._your lot_. Downstairs. Come to get you." He said in a slightly strangled voice. 

Harry could have shouted for joy. Volting off his bed, he barrelled past Uncle Vernon and took the stairs two at a time. The entrance hall was a blur, and then suddenly he was skidding to a halt in the living room, and beaming into the faces of three of the people he'd been waiting to see all summer. 

"Hi!" He greeted them rather breathlessly. 

"Hello, Harry." 

Lupin smiled warmly and stepped forward to give Harry's hand a firm shake, followed by Moody who did the same. Tonks promptly enveloped him in a tight hug once he was free again, and then stepped back to grin at him. 

"Wotcher, Harry! Have a good birthday?" 

"Yeah, not bad." Said Harry, throwing a deliberate glance at the Dursleys, who were cowering in the corner. "Thanks for all the presents - they were great." 

And it was only then, as his eyes strayed momentarily over Tonks' shoulder, that he suddenly noticed there was a seventh person in the room: a lovely witch with long, honey-blonde hair and pale blue-mauve eyes who stood quietly off to one side of the others. She was staring at him with a rather faint expression, and her right hand was gripping the edge of the kitchen counter so hard that her knuckles had turned white. Harry shifted awkwardly beneath her gaze and looked away. Noticing the young man's discomfort, Lupin glanced to its source and seemed to understand instantly. 

"Harry," He said, crossing to the new witch. "This is Astrea Ravenstone - she's new to the Order. She was in our year at Hogwarts." 

Harry's eyes snapped round to look at her again. If she had been in their year at Hogwarts, then that must have meant...The witch smiled, as thought she had read his thoughts. 

"Yes, I knew them." She nodded. Glancing over Harry's messy black hair and green eyes, she added with a chuckle: "I bet you're sick of hearing how much you look like them; but you do." 

Harry grinned. The witch's face softened to a smile again, and she came forward to shake the hand he offered out to her, the colour beginning to return to her cheeks.  
"It's a pleasure to see you again at last, Harry." She said, her thyme-flower eyes sparkling. "Looks like you and I have quite a bit of catching up to do." 

-- 


	6. Everything between the lines

Author's notes: G'day mates! Kia ora! I have returned from the lands of koalas and kiwis, respectively =) And what a fantastic time it was - perfect for getting one's creative juices flowing again (sounds disgusting, doesn't it?) Well -flexes her fingers- down to the business of thanking. 7 reviews for chapter 5, people; I am glowing! 

A-is-for-Amy: Ah, m'hunni - glad to hear it's still living up to your expectations! I have to admit that the notion of things shrinking and growing in the Abbey came partly from Lewis Carrol and partly from Garth Nix, but I think it's always healthy to draw a bit of inspiration from writers and story that get your imagination going! As it happens, I am very fond of the Ravenstones' ancestoral home - it also comprises of many different parts of memories and thoughts of time spent on holiday up in Fort Augustus in Scotland and in the Orkney Isles. 

-sighs in relief- Oh, thank heavens for that! Harry's a difficult character to write within his canon bounds!!! I guess, being a 16-year-old teenager myself, I just had to dig a little deeper to find the undercurrent of 'nobody understands me' teenage angst to get that bit right. I also think that writing the passage about remembering Sirius was easier for me because_ I_ have lost people close to me; describing an emotion is easier for me if I can empathise. 

Well, no problem! I hope you enjoy this chapter - it took a while to get to this state, so I hope all the chopping and changing pays off! Thanks for yet another lovely review, m'hunni =) Here, have a muffin... 

wcoast-girl: Hello to you! Nice to see the reviewers' list is still gaining fresh faces! I'm glad your enjoying the flashbacks - they're the funnest (I'm sure that's a word...) part to write! And if they flow naturally in the reading, then so much the better, and thank you for the praise. Ah, yes: getting Lupin in character is important for me, because he's my favourite Marauder! Astrea's hard work to keep within the restraints of a 'non-mary-sue heroine' because of all the type-casting and pureblood background etc., but it's encouraging to hear that people are enjoying reading her character. Thanks for your review, m'luv - feel free to keep leaving them throughout progress -grin- 

TigerLily713: Shy characters are great to play with, aren't they? Watching them squirm...moohahaha! -ahem- Thanks for your review, Lily =) 

The Hallowed Cat: Pads - my darling, my dream, my canis domesticus, it's so _nice_ to see your name amid my reviews =) I apologise for being such an OC-shipper - how can you ever live with me? Glad you like Tonks and the Dursleys (the latter of which I never thought I'd hear _anyone_ say) - there's a family lives down the road from us. That's all I'm saying. Xxx 

Z: I love your enthusiasm! -lol- Thanks alot, m'luv - hope this satisfies. 

Elentari II: Two very astute points there, to be sure. Here are my answers: firstly, the whole thing with Sproket wearing clothes. Very sharp-eyed (eared, nosed etc.) of you to note that, but I was taking the idea from Mr Crouch's house-elf Winky in the 'Goblet of Fire', where it describes her as wearing a little frock dress. I liked the idea that the Ravenstone's house-elf should wear something old-fashioned and unique that matched the idea of the house; so Winky's clothes are my excuse for writing that in. Also, the Ravenstones didn't really strike me as the sort of family who'd let their elf wander round in a dirty pillow-case, unlike some we know...Secondly, my portrayal of Lupin as a half-blood comes from the words of JK Rowling herself, whom I believe once actually said that that is Remus' blood heritage. I hope that answers both yours queries, m'hunni =) I'm also glad to find that I'm not alone in my madness ;) Thank you for your refreshingly shrewd reviews - please keep them coming! 

MissMoony16: Last but by no means least, my dear -quickly stops MissMoony from bashing her head against the computer- Don't do that! You'll get a headache! And then we shall have to cart you off to the Hospital Wing and you shan't be able to read this next chapter! -lol- Oh, rest assured that this is still very much a work-in-progress - you won't being seeing the end of it for quite sometime, so be sure to keep reading! Sorry this chapter's been so long (choir tour to the other side of the world for three weeks, and all that) but hopefully your author's alert will take less time to let you know about it than I did to update ;) 

While it occurs to me, I went on JK Rowling's site last night, and I just wanted to cry. Such talent! Such imagination! Such charisma! Such an untidy desk! And did I happen to mention the title of the next HP book? -blows a raspberry- Like I'm gonna tell you lot! It's on the site! Go and look it up, you lazy people... 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, his cohorts and everything that goes with them are most unfortunately JK Rowlings and not mine. Bugger. 

--**__**

**_Now_**

They huddled just inside the front door in the dark hallway of Grimmauld Place. The smell of the house mingled with the scent of their wet hair and clothes, soaked through from the rain, and the sound of breathing filled the deathly silence as someone turned and closed the door. For an instant they were plunged into total darkness, and Harry sidled close to whomever stood next to him, fear suddenly plucking at his gut. 

Then a light glimmered from somebody's wand-tip, and the shadows raced away, hiding and pooling broodily in far corners. The hallway was thrown into sharp relief by the spell. Harry didn't know quite why, but seeing the place again came like a severe winding to his stomach; standing in that same spot as he had done just under a year ago brought tears pricking to his eyes, and a haunted hollowness to his heart. 

"Home, sweet home." Murmured Tonks ironically. 

"Let's go through to the kitchen." Suggested Astrea in a whisper. "Sprocket will have put the kettle on, with any luck." 

"Sprocket?" Harry asked, but they were already moving. 

The House had changed in a number of subtle ways since Harry's last visit: for one thing, its interior was no longer coated in an inch-thick blanket of dust; the cobwebs had vanished; items that he seemed to remember once having stood in various places had now been removed; the dark damp-stains on the green walls had subsided. But the most subtle difference of all - it took him until he was walking down the steps into the kitchen to put his finger on it - was the change of smell. No longer was it the sweet, oppressive scent of mould and decay, but the soft, functioning smell of a lived-in house. A mixture of cooking smells, clothing smells, cleaning smells, the smell of people and the smell of fresh air that suddenly seemed to banish the crawling sensation from Harry's skin. 

No sooner had he set one foot down on the paved floor of the kitchen than Mrs Weasley was bustling towards him and enveloping him in a tight bear-hug. 

"Oh, Harry dear, it's _wonderful_ to see you again!" She exclaimed, and ruffled his hair affectionately. "How are you? We've all been so terribly worried! Ron had Pigwidgeon out of his cage nearly every day, and Hermione's been writing to you on an hourly basis too, I shouldn't wonder." 

"Yeah - I've been fine, thanks. Are Ron and Hermione here?" Harry asked, his eyes brightening. 

"No - they'll be coming in a few more days, dear." 

"Oh." Harry's heart sank. The prospect of being cooped up in the house without Ron and Hermione for even a few days wasn't a cheerful one; not to mention the fact that he would undoubtedly not be allowed to sit in on meetings of the Order. 

Across the room, Lupin seemed to read his thoughts, and smiled understandingly. 

"Don't worry - we're not going to leave you stuck here on your own, you know." 

"Yeah, we'll make sure you're ok, Harry." Tonks beamed. 

Despite the bleak turn of his mood, Harry had to grin back. It was nearly impossible to loose _all_ prospects of enjoying himself for the remaining part of the summer when he was back with people who actually _liked_ his company. If anything, at least he had escaped the Dursleys for another year; he might even be able to satisfy this strange urge to start talking about Sirius again, too. 

Within a few hours, Harry was unpacked and as settled in as if he had lived in the house his whole life. After the glow of being back with friends began to subside, however, his emotions were anything but. Yes, he was glad to see Lupin and Mrs Weasley and everyone again, and curious about this new witch who had the potential to regail him with further stories of his parents; but no matter how things had changed there, how well he knew it, how enstranged it had become to the memories he retained of it, Harry still hated Grimmauld Place with a passion. It had done bad things to Sirius; it had been a prison almost as bad as Azkaban. Within this house lay many of the reasons for Sirius' misery in the last few months of his life. Sitting on the bed up in his second-floor room, Harry looked about him mournfully: the curtains were drawn back, and though it was raining heavily outside, grey light beamed into every corner; yet the room was still dark. Cobwebs no longer festooned the chandeliers and dust no longer hazed the mirrors; yet there was still a lingering sense of empty abandonment. The cloying smell of decay was gone; yet the atmosphere was still oppressive. 

After Harry's initial surge of joy and relief at finally having been released from Privet Drive, his mood declined rapidly as the week progressed. It rained constantly - which never helped anyone trying improve their low spirits - and though everyone did their best to empathise and cheer him up, it got harder to bounce back every time. To make matters worse, Astrea seemed to be avoiding him. While she had been forward and friendly enough to begin with, she seemed to become more aloof and stand-offish as the days progressed. Very quickly, she started to evade eye-contact, and Harry's attempts to engage her in conversation were brushed off with brief answers until she would finally managed to slip from his grasp again. Confused, and more than a little hurt, Harry finally raised the subject with Lupin one afternoon. They were sat up in the third-floor study after a bout of cleaning - for there were still areas on the upper floors that required it - drinking mugs of tea and listening to the rain hammering incessantly on the windows. 

"I expect she's probably just shy." Lupin told him. "She's been more or less isolated for the last fifteen years. Having to adjust to being around so many people again can't be easy." 

"She seemed fine when we were at Privet Drive." Said Harry a little sourly. 

Lupin thought for a moment. 

"I'm sure Astrea's not being intentionally offhand with you. Do you want me to talk to her?" 

Feeling put on the spot, Harry ummed and erred uncomfortably for a while, and closely examined his tea. 

"You don't have to." He mumbled finally. "You're probably right - I didn't think of it like that." 

Lupin smiled, and glanced at the window as he took a sip of tea. 

"You just need to get to know her a little better, that's all. I'm sure you'll be very fond of her once you do." 

And then a strange thing happened. An odd look passed over Lupin's face as he stared out at the rain: a kind of bitter, self-mocking expression. Without really knowing why, Harry felt a sudden surge of compassion for his old DADA professor. Lupin looked so tired and run-down, the premmature grey hairs turned silver in the mingled light of candles and rain, and the scars and lines on his young face giving him a sad sort of wisdom. Harry wanted to ask what it was that seemed to be troubling him - something, he had a faint suspicion, that was to do with the topic of Astrea - but the notion that it was really none of his business nor his place to ask held him back. Instead, he delicately cleared his throat and tied off the trailing end of the conversation. 

"I'm sure you're right - I was probably just taking it too personally." 

Lupin seemed to rouse himself, and when he turned back to look at Harry, the strange expression was gone. 

"Well," He said, draining his mug. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you told me. I'm glad that you feel you can...well..." He trailed off a little awkwardly. 

"I can talk to you." Harry finished in a mumble, shifting under Lupin's steady, grey-eyed gaze. "Yeah - me too." 

Hesitantly, Lupin leaned across and gently gripped Harry's arm. 

"You...you know you're not alone, don't you?" He said, very quietly. "We're always here for you - I'm always here for you - when you need us. You _do_ know that?" 

Harry nodded, his cheeks flushing slightly. 

"It's just...being back here." He breathed deeply. "I-it makes me remember things..." 

Lupin nodded comprehendingly. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked Lupin in the face. 

"Does it ever...you know - get better? Does it get easier?" He asked. 

Lupin regarded him sombrely for a moment. 

"No." He said finally. "No, it doesn't. But getting through the day does. And saying their name does. We all went through exactly the same thing when your parents died. Now it's for Sirius." 

Harry returned the man's gaze, and then looked miserably down into his lap. 

"It hasn't stopped all year. I can't stop thinking about it all the time." 

He felt Lupin's hand move to his shoulder to pat it comfortingly. There was sigh, and he glanced up to see Lupin staring out at the rain again. 

"Neither can I, Harry." 

-- 

**_Then_**

The door of the spare classroom slammed shut, and Astrea slumped back against it, glaring up at the ceiling. 

"If Bellatrix Black disagrees with _one_ more thing that comes out of my mouth, I think I'll turn her into a toad. A nice big, fat, flabby, slimy, sludge-green toad with warts and pustules." 

Lily looked up from her book with a raised eyebrow. 

"And that'll _really_ solve your problem." 

"Well, at least she'd be able to do something _useful_, like rid the place of flies." 

Lily laid aside her homework, leaned out of her chair and rummaged around in her bag. 

"I do have some _good_ news for you." 

Astrea opened her eyes. 

"Oh, really? What?" She asked almost pleadingly. 

"We have the dress-code from Camilla-Anne." Said Lily, holding up a sketchpad. "And the designs pretty much conform to the lines we were thinking along." 

"Gothic Masquerade?" 

"Mmhmm." 

"Fantastic." 

"I rather thought so." Lily tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her lower lip. "Do you think we're ready to take our ideas to McGonagall and Dumbledore?" 

Astrea sighed. 

"Well, that's the problem. _I_ think we are, but..." She spread her hands. "Lucius and Bellatrix." 

"What are they saying?" 

"Nothing much; although they _do_ seem to be striving to invent ever more interesting and creative ways to say 'we think your ideas stink'." 

"They're going to say that whatever we suggest, though." 

Astrea nodded with resigned sigh. Lily massaged her temples. 

"Well, if they think they can do it so much better, why don't they?" She burst out finally. 

Astrea made an indelicate noise. 

"Because they can't." She frowned and leant on a desktop. "What would happen if we just went to Dumbledore and McGongagall regardless?" She asked slowly. "I mean really? We've got the ideas finished." She shrugged. "I don't think it's _that_ unhealthy for people to earn life-long enmities every once in a while." 

Lily looked up at Astrea with an amused smile. 

"Your sense of humour verges on macabre sometimes." 

Astrea smiled back. 

"It helps to keep things in perspective." 

Lily pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then clapped her hands together in a decisive manner. 

"Well, Black and Malfoy can stew in their own discontentment. We'll take the designs in this afternoon." 

Astrea's smile widened to an almost feral grin, and she glanced out of the window: the ghostly moon, nearly full, hung low like pale fingerprint in the clean, blue autumn sky. 

"Are you fond of fireworks, Lily dear? Because I have a feeling they're about to fly." 

-- 

All week, the chill, nipping October wind buffeted the legs of students as they walked about the grounds to and from their lessons, tugged at the tassled ends of scarves and sent crackling leaves whirling and skittering at ankles. The sun still shone brightly, though its rays held little warmth now, and the mists of early morning frequently lingered until midday, to reappear all the thicker by mid-afternoon. 

On one such Saturday, a white fog had settled over the streets of Hogsmeade. Brown leaves clotted in gutters, soggy from the recent bouts of autumn rain, and a dusty, earthy smell mingled with the sweet scent woodsmoke hung in the crisp, damp air. Astrea strolled along the paved street, head in the clouds. She was a late September to early January person. Sun burnt her pale skin - she could never tan - and she hated the humidity that defined British summers. Spring was a pretty season with its flowers and green buds, but it was so wet! Autumn on the other hand was full of fiery beauty, wasn't _quite_ so wet, had a lower sunburn hazard and meant exciting things like Bonfire Night and Hallowe'en. And winter - well, winter didn't need explaining! Just for now though, Astrea was busy enjoying a perfect, undiluted, English autumn day. 

In fact, she was _so_ busy enjoying it that she didn't even realise there was someone walking head-on towards her from the opposite direction until she had wind knocked out of her and found herself sitting sprawled on the cobblestones. There was an immediate confusion of apologies, followed by the initial splat-moment as their eyes met. 

It was Remus Lupin. 

For what seemed to be a painfully long moment, they simply sat there staring at each other; until suddenly, Astrea started to laugh. At first, Remus was too stunned to do anything, but presently the sound cracked a smile on his face, which broadened as he actually began to think about their predicament: two 15-year-olds, sat randomly in the middle of the street, laughing. And the more they laughed about it, the funnier it seemed to become; the partly odd, partly amused looks they recieved from passing students only made it worse. 

Presently - and still chuckling - Remus climbed to his feet, brushed himself off and offered Astrea a hand up. Her breath came in little clouds as he pulled her to her feet, the lingering mist swirling into the air in her wake. 

"Fancy bumping into you here." Remus smiled. Astrea was peeling soggy bits of brown leaf from her palms and pulling a face. 

"You should watch where you're going." She said then, looking up and smiling back. 

"Like you were, you mean?" Remus raised his eyebrows. "No, I'm joking - I'm sorry." 

Astrea made a dismissive hand gesture and shook her head. 

"No, it was me. Head in the stratosphere." 

Remus laughed and slid his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

"Where were you going?" 

Astrea turned and pointed down the street. Her long hair was parted low and to one side - as was fashionable amongst 70s girls - and it fell prettily across her face in way that Remus liked. With a jerk of her head, she flicked a wayward strand absent-mindedly out of her eyes. 

"Madame Puddifoot's. I've finished everything I came in to do, so I thought I'd go and warm up and get a hot chocolate or something." Then she gave him a quizzical smile and tilted her head speculatively. "Would you like to come? We haven't really spoken much since the start of term; it'd be nice to catch up with you." 

Remus felt his stomach give a funny sort of kick. Painfully aware that he was blushing, he suppressed it determinedly and nodded. 

"That'd be great." He agreed. 

They turned and walked down the street, cheeks and nose-tips pinched pink from the cold and leaving eddying trails through the calf-deep blanket of mist. When she wasn't looking, Remus stole occasional side-long glances at Astrea, strolling along beside him: she wore a slim-fitting brown maxi coat and a knitted lavender scarf that was knotted and tucked into the neckline. Her hair was back in a plait, but the long, layered bangs of her side-parting fell loose and her hand was always going up to brush them out of her face. Her skin was clear and pale against the rosy glow in her cheeks, and her pink lips were balmed against the cold. Practically the only thing that Remus didn't notice about her was that when _he_ wasn't looking, Astrea was casting the same appraising glances at him. 

Upon arriving at Madame Puddifoot's and opening the door, they found the threshold was almost jammed from the number of leaves that had skittered in across the threshold, and that the boarded floor was nearly as littered with them as the street outside was. The interior of Madame Puddifoot's establishment had been decorated with 'homely country kitchen' in mind: the curtains were floral-printed and hemmed with frills. Set out on the boarded floor in a rather cramped arrangement were about a dozen or so small, round wooden tables and chairs with white, lace-trimmed table cloths and little glass vases of teasels and bramble blossoms. The walls were decorated with a wide collection of plates and teacups, and the blackboard menus were embellished with seasonal pumpkin, broomstick and blackberry motifs. Remus could never really fathom what it was that girls found appealing about this place: the overall aura it communicated was so overbearingly motherly and 'homely' that someone in there for one cup of tea too many could quite easily develop cavities. 

"What she lacks in her taste in decor she makes up for with her hot chocolate recipe." Astrea whispered in his ear. "Now wipe that dumbfounded look off your face and come find a table." 

The young witch's statement about the beverage proved correct, as it turned out. The 'splash' of double cream and melted dark chocolate might have put a touch of extra strain on the waistband, but it was well worth it. The two of them sat sipping and warming their hands on burning porcelain mugs as they watched people out in the cold, and swirls of leaves whipped up into spinning corkscrews by the wind. 

"So..." Astrea broke the silence between them with a forced sort of brightness. "How's your mother? Are you going home to visit her again this month?" 

Remus nodded without answering: the guilt welling in his stomach at her questions was making him feel sick. He felt awful maintaining this story that his mother was ill to protect his own interests; it made him feel as though he were playing on peoples' sympathies, and it felt especially terrible to keep lying to this girl he liked so much when her concern seemed so genuine. But then, what choice did he have? It was either that or have other students start to put together the pieces. After that, it would only be a matter of time before... 

"Remus?" Astrea was watching him with sad eyes. "Are you ok? I'm sorry - I know how much it upsets you. I shouldn't have asked." 

"No! No," Remus exclaimed, shaking himself. "No, really - it doesn't. It's ok! I'm glad - she'll be glad - you asked; I'll tell her you did." 

Astrea smiled and touched his arm before taking another sip of hot chocolate. Remus fought to keep his own fake smile on his face, but it quickly slid as his stomach gave another guilty twist. Clearing his throat, he desperately grasped for a change of subject. 

"How are the decorations for the Ball going?" He managed after a moment. 

He gave an inward sigh of relief as Astrea swallowed her mouthful and licked some foam off her top lip. 

"Lily and I took the final designs to Dumbledore this afternoon." 

Remus raised his eyebrows in suprise. 

"So you managed to get Bellatrix and Lucius to co-operate with you after all?" 

Astrea looked at him, and her smile told him all he needed to know. 

"We managed to get their disdainful consent on one or two things." She added as a pious afterthought. 

Remus chuckled at the innocent calf-eyed look on her face and glanced out of the window. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. 

"Are you going with someone?" He blurted finally, jerkily putting his mug down on the table. It made a clatter as it slipped in his fingers that made them both start in their chairs. 

"I've been asked." Astrea said after a moment, her hands slowly beginning to lower from where they'd leapt into a steeple infront of her mouth at the sudden noise. 

Remus resisted the urge to kick himself. 

"By who?" He asked, for the sake of finishing what he'd started rather than because he wanted to know. 

"Fabian Prewitt." Came the reply. Then she added with a stumped kind of laugh: "But I don't know why he asked _me_." 

Remus heard Astrea's pause rather than saw it as he was staring with far too much interest at the smoke curling from a chimney across the street. He sensed her looking down at her mug and then up at him. 

"Are _you_ going with someone?" 

Remus shook his head and worked up a smile. 

"No." He replied with a bit of a laugh, as though the idea were sadly absurd. 

"Oh." Was that regret he could hear, or was he just hoping too much? "Well, I expect you've got someone in mind." 

He shrugged, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks. 

"We'll see." 

The awkward silence descended once more. At a loss, Astrea reached for a spoon and stirred it round the remaining sludge of her hot chocolate. The loud chinking was wince-worthy. 

-- 

**_Now_**

Astrea blinked out of her reverie, and looked down at the hand that was stirring the tea she'd just made. The spoon chinked noisily against the china, echoing intrusively through the cavernous kitchen. Who _had_ Remus ended up going with again? She couldn't remember now... 

Footsteps dropped slowly down the steps behind her, and she turned from the counter: almost as if on que, Lupin, looking weary and drawn, collapsed into a negligently pulled-out chair at the table and ran a hand through his hair. The thick, greying strands fell across his face as his head drooped with fatigue. 

Astrea regarded him in a sympathetic silence for a moment. 

"It's worse." Lupin told her finally, in a voice like sandpaper. "Ever since He returned, it's been getting worse." 

The honey-haired witch sat in a chair and drew herself up to the table, thyme-flower eyes never leaving his face. After a slight hesitation, she began to ask why but Lupin had anticipated her question. 

"Voldemort-" Astrea winced but Remus continued indifferently. "Is swathed in dark magic; he radiates it; his very existance is built and depends upon it. His movements seem to magnify the raw darkness at times of magical potency." 

Astrea gave a silent 'ah' and nodded slowly. 

"Like at full moon." She surmised. 

As Lupin heaved a heavy sigh, Astrea reached out and slid her hand over his. She gave it a comforting squeeze. 

"Will you be alright?" 

Remus forced a stoic smile. 

"I'll manage." 

"Ok." 

They sat quietly for a while, listening to the fire snapping in the hearth and the sound of the distant, perpetual rain. Then Lupin spoke again. 

"Harry seems to think you've been...er...avoiding him of late." 

Long before he looked up, Astrea's expression became a guilty one. A slight crease appeared between Lupin's eyebrows. 

"Have you?" 

Astrea sighed and shifted uncomfortably. 

"I didn't like to think of it like that." She admitted. "It's just that..." She sighed again. "How do I explain this? He's so much like James, Remus. I suppose I just didn't want Harry to think that I was vying for his company simply for that reason. I thought he deserved better than to be inundated with attention merely because of who his parents were and what happened to him." 

There was a lengthy pause, and Astrea was looking guiltier than ever. 

"It was thoughtless of me. A ridiculous reason. And he's absolutely right - I _was_ avoiding him. And after..." She inhaled sharply and her face went pale. "Oh Merlin! _Hell_ - what a _stupid_ thing to do!" 

She bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. Then she met Remus' gaze and gave a self-deprocating laugh. 

"If I were a house-elf, I'd be beating myself over the head with a skillet right now." She said. 

Lupin smiled and Astrea wretchedly buried her face in her hands. 

"When did he tell you this?" 

"Yesterday afternoon." Said Remus. "He wasn't especially adamant that I should tell you, but I thought you'd want to know." 

"Of course." Astrea slid her hands back through her hair from her face with another heavy sigh and muttered to herself: "Some teacher I'm going to make. He's up in his room isn't he?" 

Lupin rose and crossed to the counter. Thirty seconds later, he turned back and handed her two fresh cups of tea. 

"Yours went cold." He explained quietly. 

Astrea took them from him with a grateful smile. 

-- 

Harry looked up from his book at the knock on the door. 

"Come in!" He called. 

Much to his surprise, it was the person he had least expected to cross the threshold who did so. She carried a steaming mug in each hand, and her soft expression was one of utmost apology. 

"Hello Harry," She smiled. "I gather I've been a bit of an idiot lately." 

-- 


End file.
